"Let me inform you, signor Colonel, that war is not a game between bulls,
to be played with the horns of the head."

"You are prepared to instruct me?" The fiery Bergamasc lifted his
eyebrows.

"Nay, nay!" said Agostino. "Between us two first;" and he grasped
Carlo's arm, saying in an underbreath, "Your last retort was too long-
winded. In these conflicts you must be quick, sharp as a rifle-crack
that hits echo on the breast-bone and makes her cry out. I correct a
student in the art of war." Then aloud: "My opera, young man!--well,
it's my libretto, and you know we writers always say 'my opera' when we
have put the pegs for the voice; you are certainly aware that we do. How
dare you to make calumnious observations upon my opera? Is it not the
ripe and admirable fruit of five years of confinement? Are not the lines
sharp, the stanzas solid? and the stuff, is it not good? Is not the
subject simple, pure from offence to sensitive authority,
constitutionally harmless? Reply!"

"It's transparent to any but asses," said Carlo.

"But if it has passed the censorship? You are guilty, my boy, of
bestowing upon those highly disciplined gentlemen who govern your famous
city--what title? I trust a prophetic one, since that it comes from an
animal whose custom is to turn its back before it delivers a blow, and
is, they remark, fonder of encountering dead lions than live ones.
Still, it is you who are indiscreet,--eminently so, I must add, if you
will look lofty. If my opera has passed the censorship! eh, what have
you to say?"