Yet much was going on beneath the surface. There were flashes to be
seen in broad daylight. The King and his ministers at the eleventh hour
decided not to attend the ceremonies at Quarto of the unveiling of the
monument to the Garibaldian "Thousand." Now, what could that mean? Did
it indicate that the King was not yet ready to choose his road and feared
to compromise himself by appearing in company with the Francophile poet
D'Annunzio, who was to give the address? It would be a hard matter to
explain to Berlin, to whose nostrils the poet was anathema. Or did it
mean literally that the negotiations with reluctant Austria had reached
that acute point which might not permit the absence of authority from Rome
even for twenty-four hours? The drifting, if it were drifting, was more
rapid, day by day.

There was a constant troop movement all over Italy, which could not be
disguised from anybody who went to a railroad station. Italy was not
"mobilizing," but that term in this year of war has come to have a
diplomatic insignificance. Every one knew that a large army had already
gone north toward the disputed frontier. More soldiers were going every
day, and more men of the younger sort were silently disappearing from
their ordinary occupations, as the way is in conscript countries. It was
all being done admirably, swiftly, quietly--no placards. The _carabinieri_
went from house to house and delivered verbal orders. But all this might
be a mere "preparation," an argument that could not be used diplomatically
at the Consulta, yet of vital force.

There was the sudden twenty-four-hour visit of the Italian Ambassador
at Paris to Rome. Why had he taken that long journey home for such a
brief visit, consumed in conferences with the ministers? And Prince von
Buelow had rallied to his assistance the Catholic Deputy Erzburger. Rome