wife and their child in such a matter as religious training.

"What happened?" said Wilfrid, vainly seeking for personal application
in this narrative.

"Listen!--Ah!" she fought with her tears, and said, as they rolled down
her face: "For a miserable thing one can not help, I find I must cry.
This is what she did. She told him she knew of the conspiracy, and asked
permission to join it, swearing that she was true to Italy. He said he
believed her.--Oh, heaven!--And for some time she had to beg and beg; but
to spare her he would not let her join. I cannot tell why--he gave her
the password for the neat meeting, and said that an old gold coin must be
shown. She must have coaxed it, though he was a strong man, who could
resist women. I suppose he felt that he had been unkind.--Were I Queen
of Italy he should stand for ever in a statue of gold!--The next
appointed night a spy entered among the conspirators, with the password
and the coin. Did I tell you the Countess had one child--a girl! She
lives now, and I am to know her. She is like her mother. That little
girl was playing down the stairs with her nurse when a band of Austrian
soldiers entered the hall underneath, and an officer, with his sword
drawn, and some men, came marching up in their stiff way--the machines!
This officer stooped to her, and before the nurse could stop her, made
her say where her father was. Those Austrians make children betray their
parents! They don't think how we grow up to detest them. Do I? Hate is
not the word: it burns so hot and steady with me. The Countess came out
on the first landing; she saw what was happening. When her husband was
led out, she asked permission to embrace him. The officer consented, but
she had to say to him, 'Move back,' and then, with her lips to her
husband's cheek, 'Betray no more of them!' she whispered. Count
Branciani started. Now he understood what she had done, and why she had