bled. Yet she admitted to him that the countess possessed resources which
she could find nowhere; and she saw the full beauty of such inimitable
grave endurance. Vittoria's foolish trick of thinking for herself made
her believe, nevertheless, that the countess suffered more than she
betrayed, was less consoled than her spiritual comforter imagined. She
continued obstinate and unrepentant, saying, "If my punishment is to
come, it will at least bring experience with it, and I shall know why I
am punished. The misery now is that I do not know, and do not see, the
justice of the sentence."

Countess Ammiani thought better of her case than the priest did; or she
was more indulgent, or half indifferent. This girl was Carlo's choice;--a
strange choice, but the times were strange, and the girl was robust. The
channels of her own and her husband's house were drying on all sides; the
house wanted resuscitating. There was promise that the girl would bear
children of strong blood. Countess Ammiani would not for one moment have
allowed the spiritual welfare of the children to hang in dubitation,
awaiting their experience of life; but a certain satisfaction was shown
in her faint smile when her confessor lamented over Vittoria's proud
stony state of moral revolt. She said to her accepted daughter, "I shall
expect you to be prepared to espouse my son as soon as I have him by my
side;" nor did Vittoria's silent bowing of her face assure her that
strict obedience was implied. Precise words--"I will," and "I will not
fail"--were exacted. The countess showed some emotion after Vittoria had
spoken. "Now, may God end this war quickly, if it is to go against us,"
she exclaimed, trembling in her chair visibly a half-minute, with dropped
eyelids and lips moving.

Carlo had sent word that he would join his mother as early as he was
disengaged from active service, and meantime requested her to proceed to
a villa on Lago Maggiore. Vittoria obtained permission from the countess
to order the route of the carriage through Milan, where she wished to
take up her mother and her maid Giacinta. For other reasons she would
have avoided the city. The thought of entering it was painful with the
shrewdest pain. Dante's profoundly human line seemed branded on the
forehead of Milan.

The morning was dark when they drove through the streets of Bergamo.
Passing one of the open places, Vittoria beheld a great concourse of
volunteer youth and citizens, all of