“I am absolutely certain,” he answered, “and I would not have spoken had I not been able to account for what I have told you. The same captain who gave me this information used to prophesy even during the desperate German attacks against our position on the Grappa in last December. Everything he told me then has since come to pass.”
His answer was not sufficient to remove my doubts. But if, on reconsidering everything I had learnt from other sources, and comparing it with the information the secretary had just given me, I were to find that everything tallied and there was not a single contradiction, I must believe him. If all this corresponded, even in the smallest detail, it was not possible that he was trying to deceive me, or that he was trying to cheat me, and all he told me must be true.
He continued, “As a further proof that the offensive is about to begin I can add this, and I can personally guarantee it for I myself read it from an Austrian order; in fact, I can show it to you for I have it in my pocket.... ‘The Command at Tappa di Vittorio has been enlarged to cover all the region between the Ponte della Priula and Vidor and the aforementioned city is now considered as a retrovia in case of a possible early action.’ Therefore, not only will there be an offensive but the Austrians feel confident they will break through because they are considering as back lines the zones between the Piave and Vittorio, whereas up to now this region has been considered as a front line.”
This document finally convinced me, it dispelled all my doubts, and forsaking the reserved attitude I had adopted up to then, I cordially took him by the arm and said, “Our people will have to erect a monument in your honor if all you have told me comes to pass, for on these reports the fate of our army may depend. You understand....” Again I gazed steadily into his eyes. At last a faint smile illumined his wan, unexpressive face imparting to it for a moment a new look, an expression strange to him, almost a look of beauty.
“I am certain they will not pass,” he added. “The Piave is our old friend and it certainly will not tolerate their building bridges over its old faithful waters; you will see that at the propitious moment it will shrug its shoulders and all their machinations will disappear into thin air as though by magic.”
“I, too, feel certain that the Piave is our great helper, but when it comes to preventing the Austrians from building bridges, our artillery will see to that.”
“Are their masks good?” asked Brunora on whose face a new look of pain was depicted.
“Yes, our masks are good.”
“For,” he continued, “at the station of Corta the aerial cable railways have done nothing in the past few days except transport projectiles of asphyxiating gases.”
This too is a bit of news which tallies perfectly with what the brunette in the woods told me and I am grateful to him for having given me another proof of the veracity of his communications.