Italy, seemed to him the only alternatives worth fighting for.  The former was a futile dream, the latter seemed for a brief moment possible.  Piedmont, ever loyal to the monarchical principle, was calling on her sister states to arm themselves against the French invasion.  But the response was reluctant and uncertain.  Private ambitions and petty jealousies hampered every attempt at union.  Austria, the Bourbons and the Holy See held the Italian principalities in a network of conflicting interests and obligations that rendered free action impossible.  Sadly Victor Amadeus armed himself alone against the enemy.

Under such conditions Odo could do little to direct the course of events.  They had passed into more powerful hands than his.  But he could at least declare himself for or against the mighty impulse which was behind them.  The ideas he had striven for had triumphed at last, and his surest hold on authority was to share openly in their triumph.  A profound horror dragged him back.  The new principles were not those for which he had striven.  The goddess of the new worship was but a bloody Maenad who had borrowed the attributes of freedom.  He could not bow the knee in such a charnel-house.  Tranquilly, resolutely, he took up the policy of repression.  He knew the attempt was foredoomed to failure, but that made no difference now:  he was simply acting out the inevitable.

The last act came with unexpected suddenness.  The Duke woke one morning to find the citadel in the possession of the people.  The impregnable stronghold of Bracciaforte was in the hands of the serfs whose fathers had toiled to build it, and the last descendant of Bracciaforte was virtually a prisoner in his palace.  The revolution took place quietly, without violence or bloodshed.  Andreoni waited on the Duke, and a cabinet-council was summoned.  The ministers affected to have yielded reluctantly to popular pressure.  All they asked was a constitution and the assurance that no resistance would be offered to the French.

The Duke requested a few hours for deliberation.  Left alone, he summoned the Duchess’s chamberlain.  The ducal pair no longer met save on occasions of state:  they had not exchanged a word since the death of Fulvia Vivaldi.  Odo sent word to her Highness that he could no longer answer for her security while she remained in the duchy, and that he begged her to leave immediately for Vienna.  She replied that she was obliged for his warning, but that while he remained in Pianura her place was at his side.  It was the answer he had expected—­he had never doubted her courage—­but it was essential to his course that she should leave the duchy without delay, and after a moment’s reflection he wrote a letter in which he informed her that he must insist on her obedience.  No answer was returned, but he learned that she had turned white, and tearing the letter in shreds had called for her travelling-carriage within the hour.  He sent to enquire when he might take leave of her, but she excused herself on the plea of indisposition, and before nightfall he heard the departing rattle of her wheels.