The first who called her name was Rocco Ricci, but Pericles was the first to rush out and hang over the boat.  “Witch! traitress! infernal ghost! heart of ice!” and in English “humbug!” and in French “coquin!":—­these were a few of the titles he poured on her.  Rocco Ricci and Montini kissed hands to her, begging her to come to them.  She was very willing outwardly, and in her heart most eager; but Carlo bade the rowers push off.  Then it was pitiful to hear the shout of abject supplication from Pericles.  He implored Count Ammiani’s pardon, Vittoria’s pardon, for telling her what she was; and as the boat drew farther away, he offered her sums of money to enter the villa and sing the score of Hagar.  He offered to bear the blame of her bad behaviour to him, said he would forget it and stamp it out; that he would pay for the provisioning of a regiment of volunteers for a whole month; that he would present her marriage trousseau to her—­yes, and let her marry.  “Sandra! my dear! my dear!” he cried, and stretched over the parapet speechless, like a puppet slain.

So strongly did she comprehend the sincerity of his passion for her voice that she could or would see nothing extravagant in this demonstration, which excited unrestrained laughter in every key from her companions in the boat.  When the boat was about a hundred yards from the shore, and in full moonlight, she sang the great “Addio” of Hagar.  At the close of it, she had to feel for her lover’s hand blindly.  No one spoke, either at the Villa Ricciardi, or about her.  Her voice possessed the mountain-shadowed lake.

The rowers pulled lustily home through chill air.

Luigi and Beppo were at the villa, both charged with news from Milan.  Beppo claiming the right to speak first, which Luigi granted with a magnificent sweep of his hand, related that Captain Weisspriess, of the garrison, had wounded Count Medole in a duel severely.  He brought a letter to Vittoria from Merthyr, in which Merthyr urged her to prevent Count Ammiani’s visiting Milan for any purpose whatever, and said that he was coming to be present at, her marriage.  She was reading this while Luigi delivered his burden; which was, that in a subsequent duel, the slaughtering captain had killed little Leone Rufo, the gay and gallant boy, Carlo’s comrade, and her friend.

Luigi laughed scornfully at his rival, and had edged away—­out of sight before he could be asked who had sent him.  Beppo ignominiously confessed that he had not heard of this second duel.  At midnight he was on horseback, bound for Milan, with a challenge to the captain from Carlo, who had a jealous fear that Luciano at Vercelli might have outstripped him.  Carlo requested the captain to guarantee him an hour’s immunity in the city on a stated day, or to name any spot on the borders of Piedmont for the meeting.  The challenge was sent with Countess Ammiani’s approbation and Laura’s.  Vittoria submitted.

That done, Carlo gave up his heart to his bride.  A fight in prospect was the hope of wholesome work after his late indecision and double play.  They laughed at themselves, accused hotly, and humbly excused themselves, praying for mutual pardon.