The Piazza d'Armi was the field of Mars of Milan, and an Austrian review
of arms there used to be a tropical pageant. The place was too narrow
for broad manoeuvres, or for much more than to furnish an inspection of
all arms to the General, and a display (with its meaning) to the
populace. An unusually large concourse of spectators lined the square,
like a black border to a vast bed of flowers, nodding now this way, now
that. Carlo and Luciano passed among the groups, presenting the
perfectly smooth faces of young men of fashion, according to the
universal aristocratic pattern handed down to querulous mortals from
Olympus--the secret of which is to show a triumphant inaction of the
heart and the brain, that are rendered positively subservient to elegance
of limb. They knew the chances were in favour of their being arrested at
any instant. None of the higher members of the Milanese aristocracy were
visible; the people looked sullen. Carlo was attracted by the tall
figure of the Signor Antonio-Pericles, whom he beheld in converse with
the commandant of the citadel, out in the square, among chatting and
laughing General officers. At Carlo's elbow there came a burst of
English tongues; he heard Vittoria's English name spoken with animation.
'Admire those faces,' he said to Luciano, but the latter was
interchanging quiet recognitions among various heads of the crowd;
a language of the eyelids and the eyebrows. When he did look round he
admired the fair island faces with an Italian's ardour: 'Their women are
splendid!' and he no longer pushed upon Carlo's arm to make way ahead.
In the English group were two sunny-haired girls and a blue-eyed lady
with the famous English curls, full, and rounding richly. This lady
talked of her brother, and pointed him out as he rode down the line in
the Marshal's staff. The young officer indicated presently broke away
and galloped up to her, bending over his horse's neck to join the
conversation. Emilia Belloni's name was mentioned. He stared, and