The porter of the Palazzo Leone was asleep in his lodge, and Rossi

passed upstairs.

"I'll bring the man to justice now," he thought. "He imagined we were

only tame cats and would submit to anything. He was wrong. We'll show

him we know how to punish tyrants. Haven't we always done so, we Romans?

He has a sharp tongue for the people, but I have a sharper one here for

him."

And he felt for the revolver in his breast-pocket to make certain it was

there.

The lackey in knee-breeches and yellow stockings who answered the inside

bell was almost speechless at the sight of the white face which

confronted him at the door. No, the Baron was not at home. He had not

been there since early in the evening. Had he gone to the Prefettura?

Possibly. Or the Consulta? Perhaps.

"Which, man, which?" said Rossi, and to say something the lackey

stammered "The Consulta," and closed the door.

Rossi set his face towards the Foreign Office. There was a light in the

stained-glass windows of the Pope's private chapel--the Holy Father was

at his prayers. A canvas-covered barrow containing a man who had been

injured by the soldiers was being wheeled into the Hospital of Santo

Spirito, and a woman and a child were walking and crying beside it.

The streets were covered with broken tiles which had been thrown on to

the heads of the cavalry as they galloped through the principal

thoroughfares. Carabineers, with revolvers in hand, were dragging

themselves on their stomachs along the roofs, trying to surprise the

rioters who were hiding behind chimney-stacks. Some one shouted: "Cut

the electric wires," and men were clambering up the tall posts and

breaking the electric lamps.

The Consulta, the office of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, stands in

the Piazza of the Quirinal, and when Rossi reached it the great square

of the King was as silent as the great square of the Pope had been.

Two sentries were in boxes on either side of the royal gate, and one

Carabineer was in the doorway. The gardens down the long corridor lay

dark in the shadows, but the fountain with sculptured horses, the

splashing water, and the front of the building were white under the

electric lamps as if from a dazzling moon.

Before turning into the silent courtyard of the Consulta, Rossi paused

and listened to the noises that came from the city. Men were singing and

women were screaming. The rattle of musketry mingled with the cries of

children. And over all were the steady downfall of the snow and the dull

rumble of distant thunder.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024