The soldiers were
leaving Rome to attack the Garibaldians, and he was near one of
the gates. By the light of flaring torches he recognised at some
distance the hideous architecture of the Porta Pia. He caught
sight of the Zouave uniform under the glare and pressed forward
instinctively, trying to see the faces of the men. But the crowd
was closely packed and he could not obtain a view, try as he
might, and the darkness was so thick that the torches only made
the air darker around them.
He listened to the tramp of feet and the ring of steel arms and
accoutrements like a man in an evil dream. Instead of passing
quickly, the time now seemed interminable, for he was unable to
move, and the feeling that among those thousands of moving
soldiers there was perhaps that one man for whose blood he
thirsted, was intolerable. At last the tramping died away in the
distance and the crowd loosened itself and began to break up.
Giovanni was carried with the stream, and once more it became
indifferent to him whither he went. All at once he was aware of a
very tall man who walked beside him, a man so large that he looked
up, sure that the giant could be none but his cousin San Giacinto.
"Are you here, too?" asked the latter in a friendly voice, as he
recognised Giovanni by the light of a lamp, under which they were
passing.
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