discreet and charming.  When I knew her she was a widow of thirty, her husband, Andrea Falco, having died ten years previously, soon after their marriage.  The marriage had been notoriously unhappy, and his death was a release to Donna Candida.  Her family were of Modena, but they had come to live in Milan soon after the execution of Ciro Menotti and his companions.  You remember the details of that business?  The Duke of Modena, one of the most adroit villains in Europe, had been bitten with the hope of uniting the Italian states under his rule.  It was a vision of Italian liberation—­of a sort.  A few madmen were dazzled by it, and Ciro Menotti was one of them.  You know the end.  The Duke of Modena, who had counted on Louis Philippe’s backing, found that that astute sovereign had betrayed him to Austria.  Instantly, he saw that his first business was to get rid of the conspirators he had created.  There was nothing easier than for a Hapsburg Este to turn on a friend.  Ciro Menotti had staked his life for the Duke—­and the Duke took it.  You may remember that, on the night when seven hundred men and a cannon attacked Menotti’s house, the Duke was seen looking on at the slaughter from an arcade across the square.

Well, among the lesser fry taken that night was a lad of eighteen, Emilio Verna, who was the only brother of Donna Candida.  The Verna family was one of the most respected in Modena.  It consisted, at that time, of the mother, Countess Verna, of young Emilio and his sister.  Count Verna had been in Spielberg in the twenties.  He had never recovered from his sufferings there, and died in exile, without seeing his wife and children again.  Countess Verna had been an ardent patriot in her youth, but the failure of the first attempts against Austria had discouraged her.  She thought that in losing her husband she had sacrificed enough for her country, and her one idea was to keep Emilio on good terms with the government.  But the Verna blood was not tractable, and his father’s death was not likely to make Emilio a good subject of the Estes.  Not that he had as yet taken any active share in the work of the conspirators:  he simply hadn’t had time.  At his trial there was nothing to show that he had been in Menotti’s confidence; but he had been seen once or twice coming out of what the ducal police called “suspicious” houses, and in his desk were found some verses to Italy.  That was enough to hang a man in Modena, and Emilio Verna was hanged.

The Countess never recovered from the blow.  The circumstances of her son’s death were too abominable, to unendurable.  If he had risked his life in the conspiracy, she might have been reconciled to his losing it.  But he was a mere child, who had sat at home, chafing but powerless, while his seniors plotted and fought.  He had been sacrificed to the Duke’s insane fear, to his savage greed for victims, and the Countess Verna was not to be consoled.