“I swear I would never be guilty of the bad joke of crying a ‘Viva’ to him anywhere upon earth,” Carlo replied.  “I offend you,” he said quickly.

The old man was smiling.

“Agostino Balderini is too notoriously a bad joker to be offended by the comments of the perfectly sensible, boy of mine!  My limbs were stiff, and the first three steps from a place of rest reminded me acutely of the king’s five years of hospitality.  He has saved me from all fatigue so long, that the necessity to exercise these old joints of mine touched me with a grateful sense of his royal bounty.  I had from him a chair, a bed, and a table:  shelter from sun and from all silly chatter.  Now I want a chair or a bed.  I should like to sit at a table; the sun burns me; my ears are afflicted.  I cry ‘Viva!’ to him that I may be in harmony with the coming chorus of Italy, which I prophetically hear.  That young fellow, in whom you confide so much, speaks for his country.  We poor units must not be discordant.  No!  Individual opinion, my Carlo, is discord when there is a general delirium.  The tide arriving, let us make the best of the tide.  My voice is wisdom.  We shall have to follow this king!”

“Shall we!” uttered one behind them gruffly.  “When I see this king swallow one ounce of Austrian lead, I shall not be sorry to follow him!”

“Right, my dear Ugo,” said Agostino, turning round to him; “and I will then compose his hymn of praise.  He has swallowed enough of Austrian bread.  He took an Austrian wife to his bed.  Who knows? he may some day declare a preference for Austrian lead.  But we shall have to follow him, or stay at home drivelling.”

Agostino raised his eyes, that were glazed with the great heat of his frame.

“Oh, that, like our Dante, I had lived in the days when souls were damned!  Then would I uplift another shout, believe me!  As things go now, we must allow the traitor to hope for his own future, and we simply shrug.  We cannot plant him neck-deep for everlasting in a burning marl, and hear him howling.  We have no weapons in these times—­none!  Our curses come back to roost.  This is one of the serious facts of the century, and controls violent language.  What! are you all gathered about me?  Oracles must be moving, too.  There’s no rest even for them, when they have got a mountain to scale.”

A cry, “He is there!” and “Do you see him?” burst from the throats of men surrounding Agostino.

Looking up to the mountain’s top, they had perceived the figure of one who stood with folded arms, sufficiently near for the person of an expected friend to be descried.  They waved their hats, and Carlo shot ahead.  The others trod after him more deliberately, but in glad excitement, speculating on the time which this sixth member of the party, who were engaged to assemble at a certain hour of the morning upon yonder height, had taken to reach the spot from Omegna, or Orta, or Pella, and rejoicing that his health should be so stout in despite of his wasting labours under city smoke.