Historical fiction; Italy -- History -- Revolution of 1848 -- Fiction; War stories
"Ah, Luigi!" she said. "Signorina, only wait, and see how Luigi can
serve two," he whispered, writhing under the reproachfulness of her eyes.
At the carriage-door she asked Pericles whither he was taking her. "Not
to Turin, not to London, Sandra Belloni!" he replied; "not to a place
where you are wet all night long, to wheeze for ever after it. Go in."
She entered the carriage quickly, to escape from staring officers, whose
laughter rang in her ears and humbled her bitterly; she felt herself
bringing dishonour on her lover. The carriage continued in the track of
the Austrians. Pericles was audibly careful to avoid the border
regiments. He showered cigars as he passed; now and then he exhibited a
paper; and on one occasion he brought a General officer to the carriage-
door, opened it and pointed in. A white-helmeted dragoon rode on each
side of the carriage for the remainder of the day. The delight of the
supposition that these Austrians were retreating before the invincible
arms of King Carlo Alberto kept her cheerful; but she heard no guns in
the rear. A blocking of artillery and waggons compelled a halt, and then
Pericles came and faced her. He looked profoundly ashamed of himself,
ready as he was for an animated defence of his proceedings.
"Where are you taking me, sir?" she said in English.
"Sandra, will you be a good child? It is anywhere you please, if you
will promise--"
"I will promise nothing."
"Zen, I lock you up in Verona." In Verona!"
"Sandra, will you promise to me?"
"I will promise nothing."
"Zen I lock you up in Verona. It is settled. No more of it. I come to
say, we shall not reach a village. I am sorry. We have soldiers for a
guard. You draw out a board and lodge in your carriage as in a bed.
Biscuits, potted meats, prunes, bon-bona, chocolate, wine--you shall find
all at your right hand and your left. I am desolate in offending you.
Sandra, if you will promise--"
"I will promise--this is what I will promise," said Vittoria.
Pericles thrust his ear forward, and withdrew it as if it had been
slapped.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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