Vittoria gave the promise, half trusting it to bring the lost bloom of their love to him; but he received it as a plain matter of necessity. Certain of his love, she wondered painfully that it should continue so barren of music.
"Why am I to pledge myself that I will be useless?" she asked. "You mean, my Carlo, that I am to sit still, and watch, and wait."
He answered, "I will tell you this much: I can be struck vitally through you. In the game I am playing, I am able to defend myself. If you enter it, distraction begins. Stay with my mother."
"Am I to know nothing?"
"Everything—in good time."
"I might—might I not help you, my Carlo?"
"Yes; and nobly too. And I show you the way."
Agostino and Carlo made an expedition to Turin. Before he went, Carlo took her in his arms.
"Is it coming?" she said, shutting her eyelids like a child expecting the report of firearms.
He pressed his lips to the closed eyes. "Not yet; but are you growing timid?"