basilisk, burning-glass power, on the same spot,
the spot where the Austrian general sat writing,
by the second lamp to the left, where a waiter,
new to the place, with frightened hurry, was
watching, as he pretended to hover round the
next unoccupied table, wiping away a recent,
coffee-stain and some grey cigar-ash, and bowing
to the ground as he chanced to tread on the
general's sweeping white cloak lined with red—
a condescension for which the satrap repaid him
with a stabbing look, which contained the
venom and cruelty of ten courts-martial.

The general had finished his despatch to
Vienna, probably describing with cold official
exultation the successful arrest of the ringleaders
of the thirty-fourth conspiracy in Milan that
year; he had with a flare and melting blot duly
sealed the imposing document with a heavy
black sepulchral seal, when an officer, stepping
with a bow from the next table, advanced and
took the despatch, and, as he took it, turned to
the corner where the mysterious man I have
mentioned sat, and pointed him out with his
white glove to his commanding officer. I was
so near that I could hear what he said:

"General Hassenpflug, that miserable dog
you see there in the corner is the brother of the
rogue we shoot to-morrow."

"Indeed," said the general, smiling
condescendingly, and twirling the glove he had not
yet put on by one finger, he then tapped
his shelving grey brow, bit his glove, and
whispered to the orderly, who, taking off his shako,
passed round the tables, and, with a whisper,
handed it, as if for some charitable collection, to
the various groups of officers. Some laughed,
and threw in a cigar or a libretto book; others
tossed in half a dozen lire; one gave two gold
pieces; others three or four silver crowns. The
orderly bowed as each put in his contribution,
and brought the jingling hatful, back to the
general, who, humming "Buona Sera," the good
night song from the Barber of Seville, waited,
beating time with his foot, impatiently. I could
see that he detected the character of every
contributor by the alms, and by the manner in
which it was given; I could see the sneer and
smile alternating light and shadow in his face,
He did not change a muscle as the orderly
brought him the hat, but he quietly lighted a cigar
with a match that shed an orange glow on his
fingers, and then, turning to the orderly, ran
his hand through the money contemptuously,
dropping the handful he raised back into the
hat. His face seemed to say, "This is,
perhaps, a foolish bit of charity of mine, and is
rather hard on the young subs, who have given
a quarter's pay to win my good-will; but perhaps
it is well saved from billiards, vingt-et-un,
taverns, and lorettes." He beckoned the orderly
with his finger.

The orderly came, he whispered in his ear.
The orderly instantly stepped forward in a
dignified way, to show that he was not accustomed
to run errands, and asking the waiter for a
handkerchief, poured the coins into it, then,
without knotting the ends, simply griped them
together; and now with every eye in the room,
including the imperturbable general's, on him,
he advanced to the poor Italian in the corner,
who lay heedless of everything, with his
head on the table hid in his cloaked hands, and
with a few curt military words that did not
reach my ear, flung down the money before
him on the table. He could not have said with
clearer contempt, "This is an alms," if he had
struck the man as he gave it.

In the hush that followed this unusual act of
generosity in the general (the general, by-the-by,
gave nothing), I could hear the landlord say to
his head-waiter:

"Poor Giacomo, this Austrian money will be
useful to him; for all the family farm was
confiscated when Luigi was found guilty."

The man did not lift up his head. He must
be asleep.

"Wake him!" said the general, gruffly, as if
he was giving orders to fire a battery.

The orderly shook him. That moment, sudden
as a fire, the man leaped up, and, with
demoniac rage, flung the money on the floor.
How he stamped on it, spitting as he stamped!
Then kicking, so that the money flew in a
running and rolling mass about the room, clicking
against sword-sheaths, or jarring against
iron-legged tables, he sat down as before
gazing vacantly at the opposite wall. There
was a buzz of angry voices, and one or two
swords were half drawn; but the colonel,
waving them back, advanced alone towards him.
There was a dangerous revulsion from vacancy
to a deadly serpentine intelligence in the eyes of
the Italian as he advanced. It seemed to me that
he could with difficulty restrain himself from
rushing forward and stabbing the Austrian; but
he only bit his lip harder than ever and waited
for his arrival, rolling himself up in his cloak.

"Gentlemen silence," cried the colonel; "this
is a case for the hospital, not for the guard-
room." Then (advancing and laying his glove
on the shoulder of Luigi's brother) he added, in
a rough whisper, that passed through the whole
room, "We have our eyes upon you. Take
care!"

The man spurned his shoulder from him. The
colonel merely smiled cruelly, paid his reckoning,
and strode to the door. "These," thought I,
"are the fruits of oppression. These are the
crimson blossoms of one bad man's ambition."
At that moment, as the colonel's thick-gloved
hand touched the brass knob of the door, a
distant but swift growing crescendo of military
music made us all forget the sullen Italian, and
drew our attention to the Cathedral-square.

Every night those hated white coats
defiled through the conquered city of the
Viscontis and of Leonardo da Vinci, with drums
and music, and great gilded lanterns borne on
poles, and half a mile of glittering, slanting
bayonets—half a mile of bronzed, defying faces,
knowing they were scowled at and hated
—half a mile of drilled Austrians, with
flaxen moustaches and white coats. First
down the side street by the cathedral a spot