"Pardon."

"Keep it secret, you mean?" she retorted. "Yes, I pardon that wish of
yours. I can pardon much to my beauty."

She stood up as majestically as she had spoken.

"You know, my Violetta, that I am madly in love."

"I have learnt it."

"You know it:--what else would . . ? If I were not lost in love, could
I see you as I do and let Brescia be the final chapter?"

Violetta sighed. "I should have preferred its being so rather than this
superfluous additional line to announce an end, like a foolish staff on
the edge of a cliff. You thought that you were saluting a leper, or a
saint?"

"Neither. If ever we can talk together again, as we have done," Carlo
said gloomily, "I will tell you what I think of myself."

"No, but Richelieu might have behaved . . . . Ah! perhaps not quite
in the same way," she corrected her flowing apology for him. "But then,
he was a Frenchman. He could be flighty without losing his head. Dear
Italian Carlo! Yes, in the teeth of Barto Rizzo, and for the sake of the
country, marry her at once. It will be the best thing for you; really
the best. You want to know from me the whereabout of Barto Rizzo. He
may be in the mountain over Stresa, or in Milan. He also has thrown off
my yoke, such as it was! I do assure you, Carlo, I have no command over