The signora, however, was not so discreet as her speech. On all sides
there was uproar and movement. High-born Italian ladies were offering
their hands for any serviceable work. Laura and Vittoria were not alone
in the desire which was growing to be resolution to share the hardships
of the soldiers, to cherish and encourage them, and by seeing, to have
the supreme joy of feeling the blows struck at the common enemy.

The opera closed when the king marched. Carlo Ammiani's letter was
handed to Vittoria at the fall of the curtain on the last night.

Three paths were open to her: either that she should obey her lover,
or earn an immense sum of money from Antonio-Pericles by accepting an
immediate engagement in London, or go to the war. To sit in submissive
obedience seemed unreasonable; to fly from Italy impossible. Yet the
latter alternative appealed strongly to her sense of duty, and as it
thereby threw her lover's commands into the background, she left it to
her heart to struggle with Carlo, and thought over the two final
propositions. The idea of being apart from Italy while the living
country streamed forth to battle struck her inflamed spirit like the
shock of a pause in martial music. Laura pretended to take no part
in Vittoria's decision, but when it was reached, she showed her a
travelling-carriage stocked with lint and linen, wine in jars, chocolate,
cases of brandy, tea, coffee, needles, thread, twine, scissors, knives;
saying, as she displayed them, "there, my dear, all my money has gone in
that equipment, so you must pay on the road."

"This doesn't leave me a choice, then," said Victoria, joining her
humour.