said Jenna; “but ‘Viva Scottocorni’ is not my language;” and the spirited little subaltern repeated his “Excuse me,” with very good temper, while one knocked off his shako, another tugged at his coat-skirts.  Wilfrid sang out to the Guidascarpi, and the brothers sprang to him and set them free; but the mob, like any other wild beast gorged with blood, wanted play, and urged Barto to insist that these victims should shout the viva in exaltation of their hero.

“Is there a finer voice than mine?” said Barto, and he roared the ‘viva’ like a melodious bull.  Yet Wilfrid saw that he had been recognized.  In the hour of triumph Barto Rizzo had no lust for petty vengeance.  The magnanimous devil plumped his gorge contentedly on victory.  His ardour blazed from his swarthy crimson features like a blown fire, when scouts came running down with word that all about the Porta Camosina, Madonna del Carmine, and the Gardens, the Austrians were reaping the white flag of the inhabitants of that district.  Thitherward his cry of “Down with the Tedeschi!” led the boiling tide.  Rinaldo drew Wilfrid and Jenna to an open doorway, counselling the latter to strip the gold from his coat and speak his Italian in monosyllables.  A woman of the house gave her promise to shelter and to pass them forward.  Romara, Ammiani, and the Guidascarpi, went straight to the Casa Gonfalonieri, where they hoped to see stray members of the Council of War, and hear a correction of certain unpleasant rumours concerning the dealings of the Provisional Government with Charles Albert.

The first crack of a division between the patriot force and the aristocracy commenced this day; the day following it was a breach.

A little before dusk the bells of the city ceased their hammering, and when they ceased, all noises of men and musketry seemed childish.  The woman who had promised to lead Wilfrid and Jenna to the citadel, feared no longer either for herself or them, and passed them on up the Corso Francesco past the Contrada del Monte.  Jenna pointed out the Duchess of Graatli’s house, saying, “By the way, the Lenkensteins are here; they left Venice last week.  Of course you know, or don’t you?—­and there they must stop, I suppose.”  Wilfrid nodded an immediate good-bye to him, and crossed to the house-door.  His eccentric fashion of acting had given him fame in the army, but Jenna stormed at it now, and begged him to come on and present himself to General Schoneck, if not to General Pierson.  Wilfrid refused even to look behind him.  In fact, it was a part of the gallant fellow’s coxcombry (or nationality) to play the Englishman.  He remained fixed by the housedoor till midnight, when a body of men in the garb of citizens, volubly and violently Italian in their talk, struck thrice at the door.  Wilfrid perceived Count Lenkenstein among them.  The ladies Bianca, Anna, and Lena issued mantled and hooded between the lights of two barricade watchfires.  Wilfrid stepped after them.  They had the password, for