sed; the streets were lighted with
torches and hand-lamps; barricades were up everywhere, like a convulsion
of the earth. Tired of receiving challenges and mounting the endless
piles of stones, he sat down at the head of the Corso di Porta Nuova,
and took refreshments from the hands of ladies. The house-doors were all
open. The ladies came forth bearing wine and minestra, meat and bread, on
trays; and quiet eating and drinking, and fortifying of the barricades,
went on. Men were rubbing their arms and trying rusty gun-locks. Few of
them had not seen Barto Rizzo that day; but Angelo could get no tidings
of his brother. He slept on a door-step, dreaming that he was blown about
among the angels of heaven and hell by a glorious tempest. Near morning
an officer of volunteers came to inspect the barricade defences. Angelo
knew him by sight; it was Luciano Romara. He explained the position of
the opposing forces. The Marshal, he said, was clearly no street-fighter.
Estimating the army under his orders in Milan at from ten to eleven
thousand men of all arms, it was impossible for him to guard the gates
and then walls, and at the same time fight the city. Nor could he
provision his troops. Yesterday the troops had made one: charge and done
mischief, but they had immediately retired. "And if they take to
cannonading us to-day, we shall know what that means," Romara concluded.
Angelo wanted to join him. "No, stay here," said Romara. "I think you are
a man who won't give ground." He had not seen either Rinaldo or Ammiani,
but spoke of both as certain to be rescued.

Rain and cannon filled the weary space of that day. Some of the
barricades fronting the city gates had been battered down by nightfall;
they were restored within an hour. Their defenders entered the houses
right and left during the cannonade, waiting to meet the charge; but the
Austrians held off. "They have no plan," Romara said on his second visit
of inspection; "they are waiting on Fortune, and starve meanwhile. We can
beat them at that business."

Romara took Angelo and his Swiss away with him. The interior of the city
was abandoned by the Imperialists, who held two or three of the principal
buildings and the square of the Duomo. Clouds were driving thick across
the cold-gleaming sky when the storm-bells burst out with the wild
Jubilee-music of insurrection--a carol, a jangle of all discord, savage
as flame. Every church of the city lent its iron tongue to the peal;