from smoking in the streets of Milan, and so throughout Lombardy! Soon
we will have the prisons empty, by our own order. Trouble yourself no
more about Ammiani. He shall come out to the sound of trumpets. I hear
them! Hither, my Rosellina, my plump melon; up with your red lips, and
buss me a Napoleon salute--ha! ha!"

Barto's wife went into his huge arm, and submissively lifted her face.
He kissed her like a barbaric king, laughing as from wine.

Wilfrid smothered his head from his incarnate thunder. He was unnoticed
by Barto. Presently a silence told him that he was left to himself. An
idea possessed him that the triumph of the Italians meant the release of
Ammiani, and his release the loss of Vittoria for ever. Since her
graceless return of his devotion to her in Meran, something like a
passion--arising from the sole spring by which he could be excited to
conceive a passion--had filled his heart. He was one of those who
delight to dally with gentleness and faith, as with things that are their
heritage; but the mere suspicion of coquettry and indifference plunged
him into a fury of jealous wrathfulness, and tossed so desireable an
image of beauty before him that his mad thirst to embrace it seemed love.
By our manner of loving we are known. He thought it no meanness to
escape and cause a warning to be conveyed to the Government that there
was another attempt brewing for the rescue of Count Ammiani. Acting
forthwith on the hot impulse, he seized the lamp. The door was unlocked.
Luckier than Luigi had been, he found a ladder outside, and a square
opening through which he crawled; continuing to ascend along close
passages and up narrow flights of stairs, that appeared to him to be
fashioned to avoid the rooms of the house. At last he pushed a door, and
found himself in an armoury, among stands of muskets, swords, bayonets,
cartouche-boxes, and, most singular of all, though he observed them last,