Ulrich the Austrian, on his way to Palazzo Barbiondi to learn how it fared with his master, saw and heard things that took the high colour from his cheeks and made him continue his journey with the cab-shade drawn. He had seen women place their children on the top of barricades, bare their breasts to musket fire, and invite death. Once above the wave of the mob’s rage he had heard the tremulous cry of a child; a mother, in the front rank of the rebels, was holding it at arms’ length while the cavalry dashed upon her. And he had seen women, when struck, bandage their wounds and return to the battle. Wherever the mob fought most savagely there was La Ferita, the long scar on her face dulled now by the grime of the struggle. Often it was her hand that applied the torch. With the women that followed her she urged on the men, or dashed alone in front of the soldiers, calling them cowards, assassins, “slaves of Tarsis, who killed little children.” Now and then the soldiers charged their tormentors. Although some of them stood their ground or were carried away wounded, La Ferita was never among the number. “I can die!” she told her comrades. “But it is not time. I have work to do.” In Via Torino she led her women to a roof, from which they poured such a destructive fire on the troops that they had to retire for shelter. This was achieved without other weapons than bits of terra cotta, and by a form of attack not set down in any manual of war. The women tore up the tiles and chimney pots and dropped them on the heads of the soldiers. A little while and women lay dead on those roofs. An officer of the military, tired of seeing his men felled, stationed sharpshooters on other roofs to pick them off. But even from this danger La Ferita escaped unharmed. Inured to long hours of toil, the day of battling had told little upon her strength, and the deed of vengeance her mind was set upon spurred her forward. Then there was the _grappa_, that fiery liquor dear to the Milanese workman. It was as free as the bread and the meat to-day, and La Ferita did not miss her share. In Via Torino she fell in with a part of the mob that was sweeping toward the Cathedral. Vainly she strove to lead them on to Palazzo Barbiondi, but they lacked courage to hurl themselves against the wall of men and horses that reached across the square.