indulgent, gentle smile, such as she would have given a caressing animal.
"There is no time to spare in courtesies, Cesario. The moment is come. You are ready?"
The boy's lips trembled.
"A soldier is always ready, but—if you would rather let me die near you, than send me out to exile!"
She passed her hand lightly, half-rebukingly, over the silk of his dark curls.
"Foolish child! you talk idly. To stay here were to be locked in the dungeons of the Capuano. Go with your father, Cesario mio; your first duty is to him, your second to Italy and to liberty."
The youth's eyes gleamed with tho fire of the south and the fire of the soldier—the fire that her words could light as flame lights the resinous pinewood.
"My first is—to you."
She smiled on him; she knew the romantic adoration that he bore her would harm him little, might lead him far on noble roads.
"Scarcely!—but if you think so, then obey me, Cesario. Give your thought, beyond all, first to your father; give the life that remains through all trial and all temptation to Italy and to freedom."
