Be sure that if he denounces Angelo, Angelo’s life cries out against you.  You have but to quicken your brain to save him.  Did he expose his life for you or not?  I knew that he was in Meran,” the signora continued sadly.  “The paper which frightened the silly peasants, revealed to me that he was there, needing help.  I told you Angelo was under an evil star.  I thought my day to-morrow would be a day of scheming.  The task has become easy, if you will.”

“Be merciful; the task is dreadful,” said Vittoria.

“The task is simple.  You have an instrument ready to your hands.  You can do just what you like with him—­make an Italian of him; make him renounce his engagement to this pert little Lena of Lenkenstein, break his sword, play Arlecchino, do what you please.  He is not required for any outrageous performance.  A week, and Angelo will have recovered his strength; you likewise may resume the statuesque demeanour which you have been exhibiting here.  For the space of one week you are asked for some natural exercise of your wits and compliancy.  Hitherto what have you accomplished, pray?” Laura struck spitefully at Vittoria’s degraded estimation of her worth as measured by events.  “You have done nothing—­worse than nothing.  It gives me horrors to find it necessary to entreat you to look your duty in the face and do it, that even three or four Italian hearts—­Carlo among them—­may thank you.  Not Carlo, you say?” (Vittoria had sobbed, “No, not Carlo.”) “How little you know men!  How little do you think how the obligations of the hour should affect a creature deserving life!  Do you fancy that Carlo wishes you to be for ever reading the line of a copy-book and shaping your conduct by it?  Our Italian girls do this; he despises them.  Listen to me; do not I know what is meant by the truth of love?  I pass through fire, and keep constant to it; but you have some vile Romance of Chivalry in your head; a modern sculptor’s figure, ‘meditation;’ that is the sort of bride you would give him in the stirring days of Italy.  Do you think it is only a statue that can be true?  Perceive—­will you not—­that this Lieutenant Pierson is your enemy.  He tells you as much; surely the challenge is fair?  Defeat him as you best can.  Angelo shall not be abandoned.”

“O me! it is unendurable; you are merciless,” said Vittoria, shuddering.

She saw the vile figure of herself aping smirks and tender meanings to her old lover.  It was a picture that she dared not let her mind rest on:  how then could she personate it?  All through her life she had been frank; as a young woman, she was clear of soul; she felt that her, simplicity was already soiled by the bare comprehension of the abominable course indicated by Laura.  Degradation seemed to have been a thing up to this moment only dreamed of; but now that it was demanded of her to play coquette and trick her womanhood with false allurements, she knew the sentiment of utter ruin; she was ashamed.