It is not, however, our purpose to dwell upon this subject:—for we have now to relate an incident which led to consequences of great importance to several persons who have figured in our narrative.
The day after Charles Hatfield’s arrival in London, he was proceeding on foot up Regent Street, in order to pay a visit to his tailor for the purpose of making some additions to his wardrobe, when he met Captain Barthelma: for Laura’s husband had lost his title of Count of Carignano, in consequence of the establishment of the Republic in Castelcicala.
The young Italian was alone; and the meeting between the two was most friendly and cordial,—for during the short time that they were acquainted, Charles had observed many excellent qualities on the part of Barthelma, who on his side was enraptured with the heroic conduct that Captain Hatfield had displayed at the battle of Sabino, a full narrative of which had duly appeared in the English newspapers.
Taking the arm of Charles, Captain Barthelma walked with him up Regent Street; and for some time they conversed upon the late Neapolitan campaign—the glorious destinies of Republican Castelcicala—the noble conduct of President Markham—and various other matters connected with the Italian’s native land.
“It has grieved me greatly in one sense,” observed Barthelma, “that I should have been absent from my post about the person of General Markham at a time when such momentous incidents were taking place. But on the other hand I rejoice in my withdrawal from that hero’s service, inasmuch as I thereby secured the hand of one of the most lovely—nay, the most lovely woman in the world.”
“I congratulate you most sincerely upon having formed an alliance which appears to afford you so much happiness,” answered Charles; “and I hope to have the honour of being presented to the signora—for I presume you have espoused a lady belonging to your own country.”
“No—she is an Englishwoman,” returned Captain Barthelma; “and you have seen her.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Charles.
“Yes—you have seen her,” repeated the Italian. “But tell me—do you recollect that day when you, Lieutenant Di Ponta, and myself walked together in the Champs Elysées in consequence of a mysterious note which we received from a pretended Spanish refugee——”