“The Swiss are quite ready; we only wait now for the Piedmontese. Genoa is with us at a word; so are Leghorn and the towns of the Romagna. The signal once given, there will be such a rising as Italy has not seen for centuries. England will supply arms, ammunition--” “All but men,” sighed Norwood; “and it is exactly what are wanting.” “And France--” “Will give her sympathies,” broke in Jekyl. “That dear France! that always says God speed to disturbance and trouble wherever it be.” “What of that Austrian soldier?” said D'Esmonde, who did not quite like the tone of either of his companions,--“is he better?” “The surgeon says that he cannot recover,” replied Jekyl; “and for that reason I suspect that he 's in no danger.” “Have you seen the officer to-day?” asked the priest again. “No,” replied Norwood. “Jekyl and I twice endeavored to speak with him; but he slept half the forenoon, and since that he has been writing innumerable despatches to headquarters.” “They say at Milan that he 'll be shot for this misadventure,” said D'Esmonde; “that he acted in contravention to his orders, or did something, I know not what, which will be treated as a grave military offence.” “The canonico is furious with us for this delay,” said Jekyl, laughing, as he returned from a peep into the _salon_. The Abbé was, meanwhile, deep in a whispered conversation with Norwood. “Ay,” said the latter, doubtingly, “but it's a serious thing to tamper with a soldier's fidelity. The Austrians are not the people to suffer this with impunity.” “How are they to know it?” “If it fail,--if this young fellow reject our offers, which, as a Hungarian, it is just as likely that he will do?” “But he is not a Hungarian. I know him, and all about him.” “And can you answer for his readiness to join us?” “I cannot go that far; but seeing the position he stands in, what can be more probable? And, take the worst case: suppose that he refuses, I have him still!” “How do you mean?” “Simply that I have in my hands the means to destroy all his credit, and peril his very life!” The sudden energy of passion in which he delivered these words appeared to have escaped him unawares; for, as quickly recovering his wonted smoothness of tone, he said, “Not that anything short of the last necessity would drive me to such an alternative.” “May I never have to trust to your tender mercies, Abbé!” said Norwood, with a laugh, in which there was far more of earnest than of jesting; “but let us talk of these things after supper.” And with the careless ease of a mere idler, he lounged into the house, followed by the others.