'So you claim your right to occupy it!'
'That is my very humble protest for personal liberty.'
'Good: I shall be there, and shall much enjoy an introduction to the gentleman who disputes it with you. Besides, mother, if the Signorina Vittoria sings . . .'
Countess Ammiani's gaze fixed upon her son with a level steadiness. His voice threatened to be unequal. All the pleading force of his eyes was thrown into it, as he said: 'She will sing: and she gives the signal; that is certain. We may have to rescue her. If I can place her under your charge, I shall feel that she is safe, and is really protected.'
The countess looked at Luciano before she answered:
'Yes, Carlo, whatever I can do. But you know I have not a scrap of influence.'
'Let her lie on your bosom, my mother.'
'Is this to be another Violetta?'
'Her name is Vittoria,' said Carlo, colouring deeply. A certain Violetta had been his boy's passion.
Further distracting Austrian band-music was going by. This time it was a regiment of Italians in the white and blue uniform. Carlo and Luciano leaned over the balcony, smoking, and scanned the marching of their fellow-countrymen in the livery of servitude.