of the Republic; and he might judging by the hazards—­conduct the lady thither, to enjoy the fruits of crime and love in security.  The captain, when he had discovered Angelo’s crest and name on the betraying handkerchief, had no doubts concerning the nature of their intimacy, and he was spurred by a new and thrice eager desire to capture the couple—­the criminal for the purposes of justice, and the other because he had pledged his notable reputation in the chase of her.  The conscience of this man’s vanity was extremely active.  He had engaged to conquer the stubborn girl, and he thought it possible that he might take a mistress from the patriot ranks, with a loud ha! ha! at revolutionists, and some triumph over his comrades.  And besides, he was the favourite of Countess Anna of Lenkenstein, who yet refused to bring her estates to him; she dared to trifle; she also was a woman who required rude lessons.  Weisspriess, a poor soldier bearing the heritage of lusty appetites, had an eye on his fortune, and served neither Mars alone nor Venus.  Countess Anna was to be among that company assembled at the Castle of Sonnenberg in Meran; and if, while introducing Vittoria there with a discreet and exciting reserve, he at the same time handed over the assassin of Count Paul, a fine harvest of praise and various pleasant forms of female passion were to be looked for—­a rich vista of a month’s intrigue; at the end of it possibly his wealthy lady, thoroughly tamed, for a wife, and redoubled triumph over his comrades.  Without these successes, what availed the fame of the keenest swordsman in the Austrian army?—­The feast as well as the plumes of vanity offered rewards for the able exercise of his wits.

He remained at the sub-Alpine inn until his servant Wilhelm (for whom he had despatched the duchess’s chasseur, then in attendance on Vittoria) arrived from Milan, bringing his uniform.  The chasseur was directed on the Bormio line, with orders that he should cause the arrest of Vittoria only in the case of her being on the extreme limit of the Swiss frontier.  Keeping his communications alert, Weisspriess bore that way to meet him.  Fortune smiled on his strategy.  Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz—­full of wine, and discharging hurrahs along the road—­met him on the bridge over the roaring Oglio, just out of Edolo, and gave him news of the fugitives.  ‘Both of them were at the big hotel in Bormio,’ said Jacob; ’and I set up a report that the Stelvio was watched; and so it is.’  He added that he thought they were going to separate; he had heard something to that effect; he believed that the young lady was bent upon crossing one of the passes to Meran.  Last night it had devolved on him to kiss away the tears of the young lady’s maid, a Valtelline peasant-girl, who deplored the idea of an expedition over the mountains, and had, with the usual cat-like tendencies of these Italian minxes, torn his cheek in return for his assiduities.  Jacob displayed the pretty scratch obtained in the