“Why did you deny my words?” Carlo said coldly.

“I could not lie to make him wretched,” she replied in a low murmur.

“Do you know what that ‘I am for Brescia’ means?  He goes to stir the city before a soul is ready.”

“I warned you that I should speak the truth of myself to-night, dearest.”

“You should discern between speaking truth to a madman, and to a man.”

Vittoria did not lift her eyes, and Carlo beckoned to Violetta, with whom he left the room.

“He is angry,” Countess Ammiani murmured.  “My child, you cannot deal with men in a fever unless you learn to dissemble; and there is exemption for doing it, both in plain sense, and in our religion.  If I could arrest him, I would speak boldly.  It is, alas! vain to dream of that; and it is therefore an unkindness to cause him irritation.  Carlo has given way to you by allowing you to be here when his friends assemble.  He knows your intention to speak.  He has done more than would have been permitted by my husband to me, though I too was well-beloved.”

Vittoria continued silent that her head might be cherished where it lay.  She was roused from a stupor by hearing new voices.  Laura’s lips came pressing to her cheek.  Colonel Corte, Agostino, Marco Sana, and Angelo Guidascarpi, saluted her.  Angelo she kissed.

“That lady should be abed and asleep,” Corte was heard to say.

The remark passed without notice.  Angelo talked apart with Vittoria.  He had seen the dying of the woman whose hand had been checked in the act of striking by the very passion of animal hatred which raised it.  He spoke of her affectionately, attesting to the fact that Barto Rizzo had not prompted her guilt.  Vittoria moaned at a short outline that he gave of the last minutes between those two, in which her name was dreadfully and fatally, incomprehensibly prominent.

All were waiting impatiently for Carlo’s return.

When he appeared he informed his mother that the Countess d’Isorella would remain in the house that night, and his mother passed out to her abhorred guest, who, for the time at least, could not be doing further mischief.

It was a meeting for the final disposition of things before the outbreak.  Carlo had begun to speak when Corte drew his attention to the fact that ladies were present, at which Carlo put out his hand as if introducing them, and went on speaking.

“Your wife is here,” said Corte.

“My wife and signora Piaveni,” Carlo rejoined.  “I have consented to my wife’s particular wish to be present.”

“The signora Piaveni’s opinions are known:  your wife’s are not.”

“Countess Alessandra shares mine,” said Laura, rather tremulously.

Countess Ammiani at the same time returned and took Vittoria’s hand and pressed it with force.  Carlo looked at them both.

“I have to ask your excuses, gentlemen.  My wife, my mother, and signora Piaveni, have served the cause we worship sufficiently to claim a right—­I am sorry to use such phrases; you understand my meaning.  Permit them to remain.  I have to tell you that Barto Rizzo has been here:  he has started for Brescia.  I should have had to kill him to stop him—­a measure that I did not undertake.”