"With great difficulty the commiserating padre procured him some water in the hollow of a broken bottle; the corporal would give nothing else, and it cut the poor boy's mouth, so that he drank his own blood, his tears, and the water together.
"'My mother, my father—are they well?' he asked.
"'Yes.'
"'It seems so long since I saw them—the day before yesterday when I went to school,' continued Attilio, weeping, with his head on the padre's shoulder. 'And Adrian, my brother—did they hurt him, for he changed jackets with me?'
"'Hush!' said the padre, glancing at the stolid Croat who stood by them, with a lamp flaring in one hand, and his drawn bayonet glittering in the other.
"'Get me out of this, Padre Marraccini; pray get me out of this place, and home to my mother. Oh, my mother! my mother!'
"'I will, dear Attilio, I will—that is if I can.'
"'I shall take courage. I shall be a man!'
"'Do, until I return from the commandant.'
"With dire forebodings in his heart, the poor old padre hastened to the count, whom he found seated at his wine, after dinner, with several Austrian officers, in the saloon of the bishop's palace.