"Excellency! Excellency! The revolution! Garibaldi is at the
gates! The Italians are coming! Madonna! Madonna! The revolution,
Eccellenza mia!"
The man was mad with fear. Every one spoke at once. Some laughed,
thinking the man crazy. Others, who had heard the distant noise
from the streets, drew back and looked nervously towards the door.
Then Sant' Ilario's clear, strong voice, rang like a clarion
through the room.
"Bar the gates. Shut the blinds all over the house--it is of no
use to let them break good windows. Don't stand there shivering
like a fool. It is only a mob."
Before he had finished speaking, San Giacinto was calmly bolting
the blinds of the drawing-room windows, fastening each one as
steadily and securely as he had been wont to put up the shutters
of his inn at Aquila in the old days.
In the dusky corner by the piano Gouache and Faustina were
overlooked in the general confusion. There was no time for
reflection, for at the first words of the servant Anastase knew
that he must go instantly to his post. Faustina's little hand was
still clasped in his, as they both sprang to their feet. Then with
a sudden movement he clasped her in his arms and kissed her
passionately.
"Good-bye--my beloved!"
The girl's arms were twined closely about him, and her eyes looked
up to his with a wild entreaty.
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