'Ay, and better read, better educated. I can feel and understand a thousand things, books, ideas, emotions, which are so many dead letters to him. And what does it all amount to? What good is it? At four-and-twenty I'm dependant on old Drea's good-nature for a chance of earning my living by doing a common sailor's work, while _he_---- Why, if he were to change places with me here to-night, by to-morrow he would be the most popular man in Leghorn. Fortune is as much at his beck and call as any of the rest of us. And now there's Italia----'

He thought how she too would recognise the prestige of the young soldier's successes, and in what a different spirit! How often in their long talks together had they arrived at the same conclusions, but by what divergent ways? What was careless ease in her, in Dino was pure recklessness: on the one side was the freedom of unconcern, and opposed to it the freedom of desperation. And how could it well be otherwise? He was sensitive, imaginative, unlucky. And he took life hard. He could never make her understand his view of it; it was not in her temperament to understand it. 'While the sun is shining it _can't_ be dark; and she lives in the sunshine--my darling!' he thought, with a sudden revulsion, a rush of tender feeling. And she had bid the child 'take care of Dino.' He smiled to himself as he crossed over, out of the moonlight, into the great shadow of the cathedral wall.

The _cafe_ to which he was going, and where his club met, stood at the corner of two of the narrowest streets, a small, low room, lighted from the ceiling by a row of gas jets in the form of a cross. On three sides, against the wall, were large mirrors in tarnished frames; a narrow divan covered with faded red velvet ran all around the room, and in front of this was ranged a series of small marble-topped tables; three or four men were seated there, drinking coffee and playing a game of dominoes.

There was nothing at first sight to distinguish the place from any other establishment of the same rank and kind. It was a shabby second-rate cafe, of the stereotyped pattern; and even the police did not take much interest in it, although it was true that the landlord professed republican--or at least liberal--political sentiments. But in a seaport town that was to be expected; and if Jack ash.o.r.e preferred drinking his gla.s.s of vermouth with the conviction that all men are free and equal--so long as they can pay for what they are consuming--why, it was not to be wondered at if the owner of a small public-house could be found to agree with him. The 'Cross of Savoy'

was shrewdly suspected to be the headquarters of one of the branch Societies belonging to the great net-work of the Circoli Barsanti. But then, again, these said Circoli, founded early in the '70's, to commemorate the name of a certain Sergeant Barsanti, accused, whether falsely or not, of having caused the death of his commanding officer during a trifling mutiny in the barracks at Padua, and himself accordingly tried and sentenced and shot; these very Circoli, were they not existing under Government permission, if not patronage? And if Government chose to ignore the fact that some freak of popular opinion had made of the murdered sergeant a popular hero and martyr, with a name that was useful to conjure by--in a word, if the authorities saw fit to connive at the existence of these breathing-holes, these safety-valves, so to speak, of the public discontent, how in the name of common-sense were the Leghorn police to be justified in interfering?

And what, in direct consequence, could be more a.s.sured than the peace of mind and general prosperity and safety of Signor Prospero Neri--respectable householder and landlord--actually seated at one of his own tables, drinking some of his own coffee with an air of confidence in, and enjoyment of, the beverage which was more than equivalent to a testimonial?

Master Prospero's peace of mind was naturally a matter of some importance in his own estimation; and yet--such a difference can be obtained in the final result by so small a change of the point of sight--within a few yards of his complacent head, in an inner room divided from the cafe proper by a swinging door, painted over with cupids and arabesques, a discussion was going on at that very moment which would have filled that worthy host with horror and dismay.

Three men were seated in that inner sanctum about a small round table; above their heads a gas jet, turned up too high, flared unnoticed in the draught; there were gla.s.ses on the table before them, and a dingy carafe of water, and a pack of cards. But they had not been playing.

Their att.i.tude seemed chiefly one of expectation.

After a longer silence than had hitherto fallen upon them--a silence during which the wind was distinctly audible, rattling at the window-shutters, and they could hear an occasional laugh and the click of gla.s.ses in the outer room,--'Who was it made the appointment with him? Was it you, Pietro Valdez?' asked the oldest man present. He spoke slowly, and with a strong German accent.

The man addressed looked up from his occupation of rubbing his moistened finger around the brim of his gla.s.s and thereby producing a series of minor musical notes. 'Ay,' he said; 'I told him.'

And then, after a pause, 'I'll answer for the lad,' he added slowly.

'Do you mean for his coming to-night,--or altogether?' the German asked abruptly, fixing a pair of piercing light blue eyes upon his interlocutor.

Valdez picked up his empty gla.s.s; looked into it; then put it down with a sudden movement upon the table.

'I mean--altogether,' he said gravely.

The other two men exchanged glances.

'_Per Bacco_! _I_ wouldn't do it! no, not for my own flesh and blood brother,--not I!' cried the third man present, bringing the open palm of his hand lightly down upon the table before him. It was noticeable that they all three moved and spoke with a certain caution and in the quietest tones possible. '_I_ would not do it. I wouldn't answer for----'

The German checked his rising voice with a look. 'I have taken note of what you are prepared to do, friend Valdez. You _are_ prepared?' he added sharply, with another searching glance.

Pietro Valdez lifted his melancholy eyes from the table before him and stared the speaker straight in the face. Then his head dropped again, and he shrugged his shoulders wearily: 'I am prepared--yes. But I look like joking, don't I? It is so probable that I should select this occasion for a jest!'

'I ask your pardon, signor Valdez. I will make a note of what you have said.'

'Ay, notes, notes. But _I_ see nothing done,' broke in little Pierantoni irrepressibly. 'It is all very well to say the people can wait. _Santa Pazienza!_ the people _have_ waited. They are getting tired of waiting now. Once, the lower down you ground them the better they submitted. We know all that--at Naples. But it's a mistake to grind a man, or a people, down too far;--'tis so easy to grind all the humanity out of them and leave only the beast. And some beasts have teeth, and object to being baited.'

He got up and sat down again, holding his hands straight out before him and shaking his ten hooked fingers with a gesture as if he were sowing corn. 'If you shoot at the Czar of all the Russias--well, 'tis a kind of logic. You pit one autocrat against the other: Death against the Imperial Will: and the best man wins. And there's no more unanswerable argument than a rifle ball. It was our lords and masters taught us that long ago--at the Paris barricades. I say, if you shoot the Czar you prove nothing new. But to fire at a popular Prince---- To take a man at the apex of his power, in the midst of his people, to teach him that there's no popularity, no moderation, no amount of good nature, or good intentions, or good luck even, that can alter the eternal justice of things---- That's not stabbing at a King: it's putting your knife into the Inst.i.tution; cutting the throat of royalty itself--and not merely royalty as a political inst.i.tution, but royalty as a symbol of social inequality. Is it vengeance? I protest that it is no more an act of vengeance than the sentence of a judge. Have we not tried them, these Kings? _Cristo Santo!_ have we not tried 'em and found 'em wanting? Is it a murder? do you call it murder when a man shoots down a bandit--an outlaw--with a price upon his head? And they _are_ outlaws,' he added with a short laugh. 'Ay, and they wear their crowns for a purpose. 'Tis a shining target at the least----'

'_Bene_.' The German contemplated him for a moment with an air of faint amus.e.m.e.nt; then rose slowly from his place at table and moved with a cat-like step towards the door. He stooped his s.h.a.ggy head and looked long and deliberately through the keyhole at the various occupants of the adjoining room. '_Bene_. 'Tis all safe. But eloquence like our Pierantoni's is apt to attract--crowds,' he said, looking up again with a sudden peculiarly simple and artless smile.

The little Neapolitan leaned half-way across the table, his black eyes flashing. '_Per Cristo!_--you suspect some one? some--traitor?'

'Traitors? 'tis a word you are fond of using, you Italians. I look at things differently. Why should we expect a new experience in life from that of other men? A man lives with his enemies; if he is lucky, he may meet with his friends.' He looked at Valdez as he spoke: he was always looking at Valdez, who bore his scrutiny with the most unaffected unconcern. 'As for suspecting, I suspect,--every one,' he said. 'It is my business to suspect. And for convenience sake I begin with the suspicion of our worthy landlord.' And, with a quick side-glance, he added lightly, 'Valdez, you see, our friend Valdez does not answer for _him_.'

'Nay,' said Valdez slowly, 'I say nothing for or against him. He is one of those men in whom necessity is the mother of virtue. He'll walk straight enough if you watch him carefully. He won't run off the line so long as there are no corners.'

At this the German made some inarticulate sound of a.s.sent, and for a time again relapsed into silence. Finally, as some neighbouring clock struck the hour of eleven, he looked up with another grunt. 'This place closes in half an hour. The young man is not coming,' he said.

'He will come,' Valdez repeated calmly.

'_Per Bacco!_ if he doesn't----'

But even as Pierantoni opened his lips to speak the gaily-painted door behind him opened quickly and softly, and was as softly shut.

'Am I late?' asked Dino, looking all about him.

There was more curiosity than excitement in the expression of his face.

'I thought you told me it was to be an especially important sort of meeting? Why, where are the others? There's no one here!' he said, in a hurried aside to Valdez as he drew up a chair and took his place at the table beside his friend. Pierantoni's face he knew by sight already, but he gazed at the stranger present with considerable interest and wonder, noting each personal peculiarity of his appearance, his careless dress, his broad shoulders and large very white hands; he wore a large and valuable ring upon one of them, and there was an ugly scar, the red mark of an old wound, across his wrist.

Dino could not keep his eyes from it. He had always longed to see this man. The German leaned back quietly in his chair.

'Your name is Bernardino de Rossi. You are Livornese by birth,--twenty-four years old. You have belonged to this Society for nearly three years, having been introduced and vouched for by Signor Pietro Valdez, here present. And for the last four years--for the last five years, if I mistake not,' he hesitated for an instant and appeared to consult his memory, 'you have held a position in the Telegraph Office of Leghorn. I believe I am right in all these particulars?'

'Perfectly right. It is nearly five years. I was nineteen when I went into the office,' said Dino promptly, though not without a little inward astonishment. What had this meeting then to do with him? and why had Valdez not spoken more clearly? But he was soon to know.

'And three weeks ago a slight disturbance--a regretable disturbance--connected with a small demonstration in favour of General Garibaldi, took place. The procession was dispersed by the police, but not before you had been recognised as being implicated in it. In consequence of this, and partly, also, because of your refusing to give up the name of one of your fellow-clerks who was known to have been there with you, you were unfortunately dismissed from your post this morning. I say unfortunately because, for some few weeks at all events, you will now be placed under police surveillance. You should have been more careful, sir!' the speaker concluded brusquely.

This man had the power of a.s.suming at will an indescribable air of ease and authority. All traces of his former manner of lounging good-nature had vanished. His voice even was changed. He spoke now with the clearness and rapidity of a man accustomed to undisputed command. 'You should have been more careful, sir. You have lessened your chance of being useful.'

Dino felt himself going red and white by turns.

'There was no other choice, your--your--sir! I mean,' he said after a moment. 'The man you speak of--he's no friend of mine--depended upon my holding my tongue. I was bound as a gentleman not to betray him.'

'The Society has nothing to do with your being, or not being, a gentleman, sir!' the great man interrupted sharply, and looking at Dino with not unkindly eyes. 'You will attend to what I say, if you please, as at present you are merely wasting my time in this matter.' He glanced across at Valdez, and then tapped the table before him thoughtfully with his finger-tips: it was the hand on which he wore his great signet ring, and the brilliants which surrounded it glittered oddly enough among the heaps of tobacco ash and burnt-out matches which littered the mean little table.

'H--m,' he said thoughtfully; and turning his eyes abruptly upon De Rossi, 'You know who I am?' he demanded. 'Ah--I see you do. Well, that simplifies matters. You will understand how it is that I am giving you these orders. I suppose there is no need of my reminding you of the new--the special engagements you entered into on the day following the little _emeute_ we have spoken of----?'

'Ah!' said Dino, suddenly straightening himself upon his chair.

Valdez lifted his eyes quickly, then let them drop again. The lad was beginning to understand.

'You and one other man placed yourselves on that occasion on the Society's list of volunteers. I don't know how much you meant by doing so, but that's not my affair. You would not have been accepted if you had not been considered a fit person--and properly vouched for. It seemed hardly probable at the time that any very especial service would be demanded from you, but of course you took your chance of that. I have known men wait for years and years without getting such a chance; but you are to be congratulated, young man, you are more fortunate than they.'

There was a dingy carafe standing in its little saucer on the centre of the table. Dino reached over and poured himself out a gla.s.s of water; he swallowed it down at a gulp. Then he leaned deliberately back in his chair. He had turned very pale, and his eyes were shining.

'What is there to be done, sir? I'm ready,' he said quietly.

The German looked at him grimly enough for a moment, and then for the first time his face relaxed into its wonderful child-like smile.

'_Schon_,' he said approvingly. Then, with a sudden rea.s.sumption of his former manner, 'Have you any present means of support? What are you going to do with yourself at once?' he demanded.

Dino told him.

'Very well then. For the next fortnight you will go about your work in the boats, and you will be careful to give cause of suspicion to no one. You observe that I say _to no one_. If you have a--a _madchen_ whom you fancy yourself in love with, you will remember that the Society does not admit of rivals. At the end of the fortnight you will be sent to Rome, means being provided for your journey. And in the meantime you will not show yourself again at this club. Whatever orders you may need will reach you through Signor Valdez.'

There was a moment's pause. 'And--and what am I to do in Rome when I get there?' Dino asked presently. His lips had turned dry again: he found a certain difficulty in speaking.