von Lenkenstein is not base like that Italian.  Let them think of you as they will, I believe you to have a great heart.  I am sure you will not allow personal sentiment to sully your devotion to our country.  Show them that our Austrian faces can be bright; and meet her whom you call your enemy; you cannot fly.  You must see her, or you betray yourself.  The poor creature’s husband is in danger of capture or death.”

While the duchess’s stern under-breath ran on hurriedly, convincing Anna that she had, with no further warning, to fall back upon her uttermost strength—­the name of Countess Alessandra Ammiani was called at the door.  Instinctively the others left a path between Vittoria and Anna.  It was one of the moments when the adoption of a decisive course says more in vindication of conduct than long speeches.  Anna felt that she was on her trial.  For the first time since she had looked on this woman she noticed the soft splendour of Vittoria’s eyes, and the harmony of her whole figure; nor was the black dress of protesting Italian mourning any longer offensive in her sight, but on a sudden pitiful, for Anna thought:  “It may at this very hour be for her husband, and she not knowing it.”  And with that she had a vision under her eyelids of Nagen like a shadowy devil in pursuit of men flying, and striking herself and Vittoria worse than dead in one blow levelled at Carlo Ammiani.  A sense of supernatural horror chilled her blood when she considered again, facing her enemy, that their mutual happiness was by her own act involved in the fate of one life.  She stepped farther than the half-way to greet her visitor, whose hands she took.  Before a word was uttered between them, she turned to her brother, and with a clear voice said: 

“Karl, the Countess Alessandra’s husband, our old, friend Carlo Ammiani, may need succour in his flight.  Try to cross it; or better, get among those who are pursuing him; and don’t delay one minute.  You understand me.”

Count Karl bowed his head, bitterly humbled.

Anna’s eyes seemed to interrogate Vittoria, “Can I do, more?” but her own heart answered her.

Inveterate when following up her passion for vengeance, she was fanatical in responding to the suggestions of remorse.

“Stay; I will despatch Major Weisspriess in my own name,” she said.  “He is a trusty messenger, and he knows those mountains.  Whoever is the officer broken for aiding Count Ammiani’s escape, he shall be rewarded by me to the best of my ability.  Countess Alessandra, I have anticipated your petition; I hope you may not have to reproach me.  Remember that my country was in pieces when you and I declared war.  You will not suffer without my suffering tenfold.  Perhaps some day you will do me the favour to sing to me, when there is no chance of interruption.  At present it is cruel to detain you.”

Vittoria said simply:  “I thank you, Countess Anna.”