cussed it secretly: Barto held resolutely
against it, until Agostino thrust a sly-handed letter into his fingers
and let him know that previous to any consultation on the subject he had
gained the consent of his Chief. Barto then fell silent. He despatched
his new spy, Luigi, to the Motterone, more for the purpose of giving him
a schooling on the expedition, and on his return from it, and so getting
hand and brain and soul service out of him. He expected no such a report
of Vittoria's indiscretion as Luigi had spiced with his one foolish lie.
That she should tell the relatives of an Austrian officer that Milan was
soon to be a dangerous place for them;--and that she should write it on
paper and leave it for the officer to read,--left her, according to
Barto's reading of her, open to the alternative charges of imbecility or
of treachery. Her letter to the English lady, the Austrian officer's
sister, was an exaggeration of the offence, but lent it more the look of
heedless folly. The point was to obtain sight of her letter to the
Austrian officer himself. Barto was baffled during a course of anxious
days that led closely up to the fifteenth. She had written no letter.
Lieutenant Pierson, the officer in question, had ridden into the city
once from Verona, and had called upon Antonio-Pericles to extract her
address from him; the Greek had denied that she was in Milan. Luigi could
tell no more. He described the officer's personal appearance, by saying
that he was a recognizable Englishman in Austrian dragoon uniform;--white
tunic, white helmet, brown moustache;--ay! and eh! and oh! and ah! coming
frequently from his mouth; that he stood square while speaking, and
seemed to like his own smile; an extraordinary touch of portraiture, or
else a scoff at insular self-satisfaction; at any rate, it commended
itself to the memory. Barto dismissed him, telling him to be daily in
attendance on the English lady.

Barto Rizzo's respect for the Chief was at war with his intense
conviction that a blow should be struck at Vittoria even upon the narrow
information which he possessed. Twice betrayed, his dreams and haunting
thoughts cried "Shall a woman betray you thrice?" In his imagination he
stood identified with Italy: the betrayal of one meant that of both.
Falling into a deep reflection, Barto counted over his hours of
conspiracy: he counted the Chief's; comparing the two sets of figures he
discovered, that as he had suspected, he was t