‘I am so far from being a spy that I have come to warn you that, if you don’t want to spend the next few years of your lives in prison, you must be very careful to cheer the House of Savoy on the first of May. The police spies are keeping both eyes open just now.’ The others nodded their heads pacifically, but the Neapolitan still scowled. He suddenly leaned forward across the table and scanned Sybert with eyes that glittered fiercely in the firelight. Then he burst out again in low guttural tones— ‘It is easy for you to talk, Signor Whatever-your-name-is. You have bread to eat. But if you worked all day from sunrise to sunset—worked until you grew so tired you couldn’t sleep, and then got up and worked again—and then if the police came and took away all the money in taxes and didn’t even leave enough to buy your family food, and the work gave out so you must either steal or die, and you couldn’t find anything to steal—then you would sing another song. Wait, wait, you say. It’s always wait. Will better times ever come if we sit down and wait for them? Who will give us the better times? The King, perhaps? Umberto?’ The man broke off with a harsh laugh. ‘Ah—we shall die waiting, and our children after us. And when we are dead the good God will keep us waiting outside of paradise because there is no money to pay for masses. No one cares for those who do not care for themselves. It’s the poor people, who haven’t enough to eat, who buy the gold braid on the King’s clothes and pay for the carriages of his ministers. In my opinion, we would do better to buy bread for our children first.’ Sybert looked back in the man’s burning face, and his own caught fire. He knew that every word he said was true, and he knew how hopeless was his remedy. What could these passionate, ignorant peasants, blazing with rage, do with power if they had it? Worse than nothing. Their own condition would only be rendered more desperate than ever. He glanced about the table from one face to another. They were all leaning forward, waiting for his answer. The fierce eagerness in their eyes was contagious. A sudden wave of hopeless pity for them swept him off his feet, and for a moment he lost himself. ‘My God! men,’ he burst out, ‘I know it’s true. I know you’re starving while others spend your money. There’s no justice for you, and there never will be. The only thing I want in the world is to see Italy happy. I am as ready to die for it as you are, but what can I do? What can any one do? The soldiers are stronger than we are, and if we raise our hands they will shoot us down like dogs, and there it will end.’ He paused with a deep breath, and went on in a quieter tone. ‘Patience is poor food to offer to starving men, but it’s the one hope now for you and for Italy. The only thing you can do is to go to the polls and vote for honest ministers.’ ‘Ministers are all alike,’ said one.