Wilfrid kissed the duchess’s hand passionately.

What she had said of Lena was true:  Lena could only be generous upon the after-thought; and when the duchess drove Wilfrid back to her, he had to submit to hear scorn:  and indignation against all Italians, who were denounced as cut-throats, and worse and worse and worse, males and females alike.  This way grounded on her sympathy for Vittoria.  But Wilfrid now felt toward the Italians through his remembrance of that devoted soul’s love of them, and with one direct look he bade his betrothed good-bye, and they parted.

It was in the early days of March that Merthyr, then among the Republicans of Rome, heard from Laura Piaveni.  Two letters reached him, one telling of the attempted assassination, and a second explaining circumstances connected with it.  The first summoned him to Milan; the other left it to his option to make the journey.  He started, carrying kind messages from the Chief to Vittoria, and from Luciano Ramara the offer of a renewal of old friendship to Count Ammiani.  His political object was to persuade the Lombard youth to turn their whole strength upon Rome.  The desire of his heart was again to see her, who had been so nearly lost to all eyes for ever.

Laura’s first letter stated brief facts.  “She was stabbed this afternoon, at half-past two, on the steps of her house, by a woman called the wife of Barto Rizzo.  She caught her hands up under her throat when she saw the dagger.  Her right arm was penetrated just above the wrist, and half-an-inch in the left breast, close to the centre bone.  She behaved firmly.  The assassin only struck once.  No visible danger; but you should come, if you have no serious work.”

“Happily,” ran the subsequent letter, of two days’ later date, “the assassin was a woman, and one effort exhausts a woman; she struck only once, and became idiotic.  Sandra has no fever.  She had her wits ready—­where were mine?—­when she received the wound.  While I had her in my arms, she gave orders that the woman should be driven out of the city in her carriage.  The Greek, her mad musical adorer, accuses Countess d’Isorella.  Carlo has seen this person—­returns convinced of her innocence.  That is not an accepted proof; but we have one.  It seems that Rizzo (Sandra was secret about it and about one or two other things) sent to her commanding her to appoint an hour detestable style!  I can see it now; I fear these conspiracies no longer:—­she did appoint an hour; and was awaiting him when the gendarmes sprang on the man at her door.

He had evaded them several weeks, so we are to fancy that his wife charged Countess Alessandra with the betrayal.  This appears a reasonable and simple way of accounting for the deed.  So I only partly give credit to it.  But it may be true.