"We can waste no time, caro amico," she said, rapidly, in his own liquid, caressing Venetian tongue. "The earlier yon leave, the less likelihood of detection. He will wait for you on the shore; you will row him to his vessel amongst others; nothing can be simpler. You will be safe with him."
Something that was almost the weakness of tears rose in her eyes as she spoke; she thought how entirely her trust would be preserved, how surely, at risk of very life, he, whom she recompensed with cold words and bitter neglect, would redeem his promise.
Over the browned, stern, noble face of Filippo Fiesoli the warmth of his lost youth stole; a look came into his glance that only was not love because chastened by so utter a hopelessness, and purified from all touch of passion.
"Ah!" he murmured, in his snow-white beard, "I can give you nothing, save an exile's gratitude and the blessing of an old man near his grave. You noblest among women!—what you have asked for us!"
Idalia's eyes softened with a mellow wistful tenderness, with an unspeakable regret.
"Ah, Fiesoli! if all patriots were pure, all liberators true as you are, my best friend, I would count every loss my highest, holiest gain! But there is so
