s a patriot
by betraying a friend."

I had brought her to the test at last, but my eyes shrank from her face
as I spoke. There was a dead silence, which I broke by adding lamely:
"But no doubt Signor Briga could explain."

She lifted her head, and I saw that my triumph was to be short. She
stood erect, a few paces from me, resting her hand on a table, but not
for support.

"Of course he can explain," she said; "do you suppose I ever doubted
it? But--" she paused a moment, fronting me nobly--"he need not, for I
understand it all now."

"Ah," I murmured with a last flicker of irony.

"I understand," she repeated. It was she, now, who sought my eyes and
held them. "It is quite simple--he could not have done otherwise."

This was a little too oracular to be received with equanimity. I
suppose I smiled.

"He could not have done otherwise," she repeated with tranquil
emphasis. "He merely did what is every Italian's duty--he put Italy
before himself and his friends." She waited a moment, and then went on
with growing passion: "Surely you must see what I mean? He was
evidently in the prison with his father at the time of my poor
brother's death. Emilio perhaps guessed that he was a friend--or
perhaps appealed to him because he was young and looked kind. But don't
you see how dangerous it would have been for Briga to bring this letter
to us, or even to hide it in his father's house? It is true that he was
not yet suspected of liberalism, but he was already connected with
Young Italy, and it is just because he managed to keep himself so free
of suspicion that he was able to do such good work for the cause." She
paused, and then went on with a firmer voice. "You don't know the
danger we all lived in. The government spies were everywhere. The laws
were set aside as the Duke pleased--was not Emilio hanged for having an
ode to Italy in his desk? After Menotti's conspiracy the Duke grew mad
with fear--he was haunted by the dread of assassination. The police, to
prove their zeal, had to trump up false charges and arrest innocent
persons--you remember the case of poor Ricci? Incriminating papers were
smuggled into people's houses--they were condemned to death on the paid
evidence of brigands and galley-slaves. The families of the
revolutionists were under the closest observation and were shunned by
all who wished to stand well with the government. If Briga had been
seen going into our house he would at once have been suspected.