Never mind. Let us wait.'

Carlo got his forehead into a show of smoothness, and said, 'Suppose, my
dear Signor Antonio, the prophet of dark things were to say to himself,
"Let us wait?"'

'Hein-it is deep.' Antonio-Pericles affected to sound the sentence, eye
upon earth, as a sparrow spies worm or crumb. 'Permit me,' he added
rapidly; an idea had struck him from his malicious reserve stores,--
'Here is Lieutenant Pierson, of the staff of the Field-Marshal of
Austria, unattached, an old friend of Mademoiselle Emilia Belloni,--
permit me,--here is Count Ammiani, of the Lombardia Milanese journal, a
new friend of the Signorina Vittoria Campa-Mademoiselle Belloni the
Signorina Campa--it is the same person, messieurs; permit me to introduce
you.'

Antonio-Pericles waved his arm between the two young men.

Their plain perplexity caused him to dash his fingers down each side of
his moustachios in tugs of enjoyment.

For Lieutenant Pierson, who displayed a certain readiness to bow, had
caught a sight of the repellent stare on Ammiani's face; a still and flat
look, not aggressive, yet anything but inviting; like a shield.

Nevertheless, the lieutenant's head produced a stiff nod. Carlo's did
not respond; but he lifted his hat and bowed humbly in retirement to the
ladies.

Captain Gambier stepped aside with him.