stand-still.

Neither the temperaments nor the clothes of these Italians had been equal
to the exigencies of their march in the cruel Northern winter. As they
tramped, a dismal, silent band across Belgium, the snow was several feet
deep under foot, and on all sides it stretched hopelessly to the horizon,
falling mercilessly the while. Their light clothing was ill adapted to the
rigours of the season; boots gave out, food was scanty or non-existent,
and they had to rely entirely on the fickle chances of fortune to keep
body and soul together. By night, when chance allowed, they had crept
unobserved into barns and stables, and, lying close up against the dormant
cattle, they had striven to restore animation to their frozen limbs by
means of the beasts' warm breath. Once an old farm-woman had found them,
and, taking pity on their woebegone condition, had regaled the whole party
on hot milk and bread; and this was now looked back on as a gala day, for
not every day had afforded such fare. At times in the course of their
weary tramp the Anarchists had made an effort to keep up their flagging
spirits by means of song, revolutionary and erotic, but such attempts had
usually fallen flat, and the little band of exiles had relapsed into
gloomy silence as they tramped on noiselessly through the snow. One of
their number had quite broken down on the road and they had been compelled
to leave him behind. "Lucky fellow, that Morelli," exclaimed Meneghino,
"enjoying good broth in a hospital while we were still trudging on through
that infernal snow!"

"And Antonietta?" inquired Giannoli, when the relation of these
adventures had terminated. "You have not yet told us her end, nor how she
incurred your displeasure."

"Oh, Antonietta!" exclaimed Beppe. "I was forgetting. You who believed