s sword to France.--Trans.

Six years of waiting again went by, and Orlando still dwelt at Turin,
even after Florence had been chosen as the new capital. The Senate had
acclaimed Victor Emmanuel, King of Italy; and Italy was indeed almost
built, it lacked only Rome and Venice. But the great battles seemed all
over, the epic era was closed; Venice was to be won by defeat. Orlando
took part in the unlucky battle of Custozza, where he received two
wounds, full of furious grief at the thought that Austria should be
triumphant. But at that same moment the latter, defeated at Sadowa,
relinquished Venetia, and five months later Orlando satisfied his desire
to be in Venice participating in the joy of triumph, when Victor Emmanuel
made his entry amidst the frantic acclamations of the people. Rome alone
remained to be won, and wild impatience urged all Italy towards the city;
but friendly France had sworn to maintain the Pope, and this acted as a
check. Then, for the third time, Garibaldi dreamt of renewing the feats
of the old-world legends, and threw himself upon Rome like a soldier of
fortune illumined by patriotism and free from every tie. And for the
third time Orlando shared in that fine heroic madness destined to be
vanquished at Mentana by the Pontifical Zouaves supported by a small
French corps. Again wounded, he came back to Turin in almost a dying
condition. But, though his spirit quivered, he had to resign himself; the
situation seemed to have no outlet; only an upheaval of the nations could
give Rome to Italy.

All at once the thunderclap of Sedan, of the downfall of France,
resounded through the world; and then the road to Rome lay open, and
Orlando, having returned to service in the regular army, was with the
troops who took up position in the Campagna to ensure the safety of the
Holy See, as was said in the letter which Victor Emmanuel wrote to Pius
IX. There was, however, but the shadow of an engagement: General
Kanzler's Pontifical Zouaves were compelled to fall back, and Orlando was
one of the first to enter the city by the breach of the Porta Pia. Ah!
that twentieth of September--that day when he experienced the greatest
happiness of his life--a day of delirium, of complete triumph, which
realised the dream of so many years of terrible contest, the dream for
which he had sacrificed rest and fortune, and given both body and mind!

Then came more than ten happy years in conquered Rome--in Rome adored,
flattere