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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 67 pages of information about Vittoria Volume 2.

IN VERONA

The lieutenant read these lines, as he clattered through the quiet streets toward the Porta Tosa: 

Dear friend,—­I am glad that you remind me of our old affection, for it assures me that yours is not dead.  I cannot consent to see you yet.  I would rather that we should not meet.

’I thought I would sign my name here, and say, “God bless you, Wilfrid; go!”

’Oh! why have you done this thing!  I must write on.  It seems like my past life laughing at me, that my old friend should have come here in Italy, to wear the detestable uniform.  How can we be friends when we must act as enemies?  We shall soon be in arms, one against the other.  I pity you, for you have chosen a falling side; and when you are beaten back, you can have no pride in your country, as we Italians have; no delight, no love.  They will call you a mercenary soldier.  I remember that I used to have the fear of your joining our enemies, when we were in England, but it seemed too much for my reason.

’You are with a band of butchers.  If I could see you and tell you the story of Giacomo Piaveni, and some other things, I believe you would break your sword instantly.

’There is time.  Come to Milan on the fifteenth.  You will see me then.  I appear at La Scala.  Promise me, if you hear me, that you will do exactly what I make you feel it right to do.  Ah, you will not, though thousands will!  But step aside to me, when the curtain falls, and remain—­oh, dear friend!  I write in honour to you; we have sworn to free the city and the country—­remain among us:  break your sword, tear off your uniform; we are so strong that we are irresistible.  I know what a hero you can be on the field:  then, why not in the true cause?  I do not understand that you should waste your bravery under that ugly flag, bloody and past forgiveness.

’I shall be glad to have news of you all, and of England.  The bearer of this is a trusty messenger, and will continue to call at the hotel.  A. is offended that I do not allow my messenger to give my address; but I must not only be hidden, I must have peace, and forget you all until I have done my task.  Addio.  We have both changed names.  I am the same.  Can I think that you are?  Addio, dear friend.

Vittoria.’

Lieutenant Pierson read again and again the letter of her whom he had loved in England, to get new lights from it, as lovers do when they have lost the power to take single impressions.  He was the bearer of a verbal despatch from the commandant in Milan to the Marshal in Verona.  At that period great favour was shown to Englishmen in the Austrian service, and the lieutenant’s uncle being a General of distinction, he had a sort of semi-attachment to the Marshal’s staff, and was hurried to and fro, for the purpose of keeping him out of duelling scrapes,

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