"For this reason I have come here to warn you. The enemy will land in this vicinity, and I know--that your daughter is with you."
"Valeria is a Roman."
"Yes, but these enemies are the most ferocious barbarians. For it is Huns, Massagetæ, Scythians, Avari, Sclavonians, and Saracens which this Emperor of the Romans lets loose upon Italy! Woe to your lovely child should she fall into their hands."
"That she shall not!" cried Valerius, his hand upon his dagger. "But you are right--she must go--she must be placed in safety."
"Where is safety in Italy? Soon the billows of the conflict will roll over Neapolis--over Rome--and will scarcely break against the walls of Ravenna!"
"Do you think so highly of these Greeks? Yet Greece has never sent anything to Italy but mimes, pirates, and pickpockets!"
"But Belisarius is the favourite of fortune. At all events, a war will be kindled, the end of which many of you will not outlive!"
"Of us, you say? Will not you fight with us?"
"No, Valerius! You know that pure Corsican blood flows in my veins, in spite of my adopted Roman name. I am no Roman, no Greek, and no Goth. I wish the Goths the victory, because they keep order on land and sea, and my trade flourishes under their sway; but were I to fight openly on their side, the exchequer of Byzantium would swallow up all that I possess in ships and goods in the harbours of the East: three-fourths of my whole fortune. No, I intend so to fortify my island--you know that half Corsica is mine--that neither of the disputants can molest me. My island shall be an asylum of peace, while round about land and water echo with the noise of battle. I shall defend this asylum as a king defends his crown, or a bridegroom his bride; and therefore"--his eyes sparkled, and his voice trembled with excitement--"therefore I wish--now--to speak a word which for years I have carried hidden in my heart----"
He hesitated.