"Excellency! Excellency! The revolution! Garibaldi is at the gates! The
Italians are coming! Madonna! Madonna! The revolution, Eccellenza mia!"
The man was mad with fear. Every one spoke at once. Some laughed, thinking the man crazy. Others, who had heard the distant noise from the streets, drew back and looked nervously towards the door. Then Sant' Ilario's clear, strong voice, rang like a clarion through the room.
"Bar the gates. Shut the blinds all over the house—it is of no use to let them break good windows. Don't stand there shivering like a fool. It is only a mob."
Before he had finished speaking, San Giacinto was calmly bolting the blinds of the drawing-room windows, fastening each one as steadily and securely as he had been wont to put up the shutters of his inn at Aquila in the old days.
In the dusky corner by the piano Gouache and Faustina were overlooked in the general confusion. There was no time for reflection, for at the first words of the servant Anastase knew that he must go instantly to his post. Faustina's little hand was still clasped in his, as they both sprang to their feet. Then with a sudden movement he clasped her in his arms and kissed her passionately.
"Good-bye—my beloved!"
The girl's arms were twined closely about him, and her eyes looked up to his with a wild entreaty.
"You are safe here, my darling—good-bye!"
"Where are you going?"
"To the Serristori barracks. God keep you safe till I come back—good-bye!"