The corporal disappeared. As soon as the footsteps died away, the major took the cards and stacked them. When the soldier returned with the rum, the major had already taken his place.

"Ah, that tastes good," he said, after he had taken a deep draught.

The corporal drank also and then they sat down again. This time the game was for money, the stakes being a few pennies. After a while, the soldier in the meantime having won repeatedly, the stakes were increased. The major continued to lose, and soon the soldier had won all of Bartolomeo's cash. While the play was going on they drank often, and when Bartolomeo refused to play any more because his money was all gone, the corporal said he would lend him a few lire.

"Ah, if I lose these too," remarked the major, "the time will have gone by for a revenge. It is already past five o'clock."

"Bah--let us play anyhow!" exclaimed the corporal, exhilarated by the money he had won and the liquor he had swallowed.

A slight smile crossed the major's lips. The play began again, but this time the prisoner won. It did not take long before the major had not only won back all his money, but that of the corporal's too, and just as the latter had asked him for a loan a knock was heard at the door.

"Confound it!" exclaimed the corporal, "who is disturbing us now?"

In answer to a harsh "Come in," the door opened and a soldier appeared.

He announced that it was time to go to the barracks in the Piazza Poliziotti.

"It is all right; I shall be there directly," answered the corporal.

The soldier departed, and the corporal now turned to Bartolomeo, who had arisen from his chair.

"One more game," begged the Austrian.

"Not for the world. I must collect my thoughts now, and close my account with G.o.d," replied the major.

"But you won my money and ought to give me a revenge."

"Gladly, if I only had time to do so."

The corporal, who was very tight, swore roundly.

The major gazed at him for a moment, and then in a hesitating way said:

"I know a way out of the difficulty."

"What is it?" asked the corporal, breathlessly.

"Your order is to shoot me, and then to go to the barracks; postpone the execution half an hour--take me with you to the Poliziotti barracks, and I will give you your revenge there," proposed Bartolomeo.

"Certainly," cried the corporal, gleefully.

He strode in advance of Bartolomeo, and ordered his men to take the major along to the barracks.

The soldiers looked at one another in astonishment, but none dared to say a word, and at a quick step they were on their way to the barracks.

"Time won--everything won," muttered the major. "I have not played cards a lifetime for nothing."

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

FORWARD!

In the streets of Milan the battle raged. The Italians resembled lions in courage, and soon one bulwark after another fell into their hands.

The ladies of the aristocracy were busy in the Casa Borromeo melting lead and making cannon-b.a.l.l.s. All the druggists and chemists manufactured powder and gun-cotton, and the gunsmiths gave up their stocks of firearms.

In spite of the brave resistance of the Austrians, the Borletto Palace had been conquered again by the patriots. Radetzky demanded an armistice, but his proposition was declined. The enemy were not allowed time to collect themselves.

One barrack after the other was captured, and then the great ma.s.s of the patriots turned toward the Casa Santa Margarita, where the _elite_ of the artillery had taken up a position, and a bitter struggle ensued. The battle raged indecisively for a long time, when suddenly a bright flame issued from the gate. A patriot, Pasquale Sottocorni, had stealthily reached the palace and set it on fire. He was the first victim of his heroic deed, and died with the cry on his lips:

"Long live Italy!"

But his boldness helped the patriots materially. The escaping soldiers were taken prisoners, and the ranks of the people were recruited in numbers. The Poliziotti barracks still remained to be captured. The Poliziotti was intensely hated in Milan because it was mainly filled with renegades--Italians who sold themselves to Radetzky.

While the fight was going on about the building, Bartolomeo and the corporal were sitting in a room playing cards. The major permitted his pupil to win and lose at times. Every minute he gained was precious to him, and the corporal did not dream of shooting his teacher while they were playing _ecarte_.

From time to time a soldier put his head in the room to ask when the execution was going to take place.

Every time he did so he was told to be off.

The corporal had just finished dealing the cards, when the soldier again appeared.

"Corporal," he said, breathlessly, "the Poliziotti are giving way, the Croatians are decimated--shall we go to their rescue?"

"Bah! we are only a handful," growled the corporal. "Let us await the result."

The door closed behind the soldier. Bartolomeo now sprang up, took the sword and gun from the drunken corporal, and cried in his ear:

"Obey my order, or you are a dead man!"

"What--should--I--do?" stammered the corporal, partly sobered.

"Hoist the white flag--quick!"

"But I--have--no--authority--here!"

"Who cares?" exclaimed Bartolomeo, "give the order--the people will be needlessly sacrificed--are you going now?"

The corporal still hesitated, but just then a police sergeant ran in and cried:

"Corporal--let your men get shot--the scoundrels refuse to fight!"

Bartolomeo had placed himself behind the corporal; the muzzle of the gun lay against his knee, and this fact made the Austrian obedient.

"My people are right," he said, gruffly; "I have given the order to hoist the white flag."

"The white flag? What for?"