General Arturo Valentini, commanding the Italian forces on the Alpine
frontier of France, sprang nimbly from an open cab, and helped out his
companion--a young lady in deep mourning, with her long crape veil down,
as is the custom in Italy.
The sentries at the big arched gateway of the military prison of Turin,
recognising the commanding officer, stood at the salute, and in
response, the short, dapper little man in his uniform and row of ribbons
on his breast raised his hand to his peaked cap quickly in
acknowledgment, and passed at once into the great bare courtyard
surrounded by the high, white, inartistic outer offices of the prison.
The soldiers off duty, who were lounging and gossiping, quickly drew
themselves up to attention as he crossed the courtyard to the office of
the governor, walking with his firm military gait and spurs clinking,
and his sword trailing over the stones. He was one of the smartest and
best soldiers Italy possessed, a man who had shown an iron nerve in
those turbulent days of the struggle for unity, a man of rigid
discipline and yet of kindly heart. The loss of his only son in the
reverses in Abyssinia two years before had left him without kith or kin,
and although he commanded a military district as large as England, and
was also in possession of a private income, he led a simple life at his
headquarters there in Turin, going into society as little as possible,
and ever working to improve the condition of his command. His district
was the most important of any in Italy, for in case of hostilities it
would be the first point attacked; and as triumph usually lies with
those who strike the first blow, it was his object to enter France
effectively and on the instant, if the dogs of war were ever let loose.
With this end in view, he was untiring in his efforts to perfect the
defences of those many valleys and Alpine passes by which the enemy
might gain admittance if not perfectly secure. In both summer and
winter his troops were ever manoeuvring in those high misty mountains,
skirmishing, throwing bridges over the deep gorges, and executing
evolutions always in secret, always fearing that the French might learn
their intentions in case of war.
That enormous army on the Italian frontier which one never sees, those
regiments upon regiments which dwell far up in the remote heights of the
Alps, away from the civilisation of the towns, are kept a mystery by the
Ministry of War. They are there, ever ready, one knows, but where all
the hidden fortresses are situated, or where the death-dealing mines are
laid, are secrets which only the War Office and the commander know.
And it is those secrets which French spies are ever endeavouring to
discover. Indeed, one of General Valentini's chief anxieties was the
ingenuity displayed by the emissaries of France, who crossed the
frontier in all kinds of disguises in the endeavour to learn the
military secrets. Not a year went past but two or three of these spies
were arrested and condemned--and, be it said, the same state of things
existed on French territory, where the secret service of Italy, the men
from the bureau at headquarters there in Turin, boldly took their
liberty in their hands and went forth to gain the secrets of their
friends in the opposite valleys.
It required an officer of clear foresight, great tact, and wide
experience to control such a command, and in Arturo Valentini, the
short, stout, red-faced little man, Italy certainly had one in whom she
could repose the most absolute confidence.
In the office of the prison governor the pair stood for a few minutes,
until the dark-bearded, spectacled official entered, saluted the
commander, invited both him and his companion to seats, and settled
himself at his table.
"I wish to have an interview with Felice Solaro," the general explained.
"He is still here, I suppose?"
"Until Thursday next, when he is to be transferred to Gorgona."
"To Gorgona!" exclaimed the general in surprise; for the name of that
lonely penal island in the Mediterranean opposite Leghorn was sufficient
to cause him to shudder. "Then it is fortunate we came to-day," he
added.
"But," hesitated the grave-faced man, looking inquiringly at his
company, "but of course this lady cannot see him. It is against the
regulations, you know, general. No prisoner can be seen by anyone
except yourself, save by order of the Minister of War."
"I know," was the old officer's reply. "But this lady happens to be the
daughter of the Minister Morini." Whereupon the governor bowed politely
at the figure, whose face he could not well distinguish through her
veil.
"You therefore need have no hesitation in allowing the interview," added
the general. "If you wish, I'll sign an order for it now."
"No, certainly not. If the lady is the Minister's daughter, it is of
course different."
"But this fact is confidential, recollect. It must not appear in any
report that she has visited here."
The governor nodded. It was not the first time that ladies, high born
and well-dressed some of them, had, on presenting orders from Camillo
Morini, had interviews with officers and men undergoing imprisonment for
various offences.
Solaro's crime was, however, the most serious of that of any prisoner
who had been incarcerated there since he had held the post of governor--
the unpardonable crime of treason, of selling his country into the hands
of its enemy! He only knew that the court-martial had found the charges
proved, and therefore he was guilty. It surprised him that the daughter
of the Minister should wish to see the man condemned of such an offence,
but he made no comment. He only touched his bell and gave instructions
for the prisoner Solaro to be brought from his cell to the _parlatorio_,
or speaking-room.
"You of course wish, general, to see the prisoner in private," remarked
the governor, when the chief warder had gone.
"If you please," responded the old officer, in his sharp habit of
speech.
"Then I will not accompany you. But I may tell you that the prisoner
has become much changed since his sentence. He declares his innocence,
and sits pondering all day in idleness."
The general sighed, without replying. They discussed the matter until
the chief warder returning they rose and followed him out across the
courtyard, through a small iron-bound door before which a sentry stood
at the salute, into the inner courtyard of the prison itself, the small,
dismal, bare stone place which formed the exercise-yard, while all
around were the small, barred, high-up windows of the cells.
They passed through a door, and walking along a short corridor entered a
small room divided in half by long iron bars from floor to ceiling, like
the cage of some ferocious animal in captivity. Behind those bars stood
the bent, pale-faced figure of Felice Solaro, different indeed from the
straight, well-set-up man who had stood before the Minister of War and
defiantly broken his sword across his knee. Dressed in an ill-made suit
of coarse canvas, the beard he had grown gave him an unkempt and
neglected appearance, the aspect of one in whom all hope was dead.
On recognising his visitors, he sprang forward to the bars.
"Ah! my general?" he cried. "How good of you to come to me!" And he
put out his thin white hand through the iron cage to greet the man who
had stood his friend and endeavoured to get his verdict reversed. Then,
as the gallant old officer took his hand, he turned inquiringly towards
the figure in black.
She threw her long veil aside, and when he saw her face revealed he
gasped--
"Signorina Mary! You--you have come here--_to see me_!"
Tears rose to her eyes and almost blinded her. Recollections of the
past crowded upon her in that moment, and her heart was overburdened by
pity for him.
"The signorina has done her best to induce her father to sign the order
for your release, captain, but, alas!"--And the general sighed without
concluding his sentence.
"The Minister refuses!" said the unfortunate man behind the bars. "And
yet I tell you I am innocent--innocent."
"I believe you are, captain. If I did not, I should not interest myself
on your behalf. But, unfortunately, the powers in Rome are greater than
mine. They are sending you out to Gorgona, it seems."
"To Gorgona!" he gasped hoarsely, all the light dying from his pale,
emaciated face. "Ah! then they mean to drive me mad by solitary
confinement. My enemies have, indeed, triumphed!"
"But have courage, Felice," exclaimed Mary, speaking to him for the
first time and taking his thin hand. "Surely one day you will have
justice done to you. I cannot understand why my father so steadily
refuses to release you."
"Because he fears to do so," declared the condemned man. "I am victim
of a foul intrigue in which that woman Filomena was one who conspired
against me."
"And yet you loved her," remarked the girl reproachfully.
"Ah! I believe I did. I know that to you I ought not to mention her,
signorina. But forgive me. Do you recollect that night in Rome--at the
ball at the Colonna Palace--when I asked you a question?"
"I do," she responded, now very pale. "I was younger, and did not know
my own mind then. I thought--I thought I loved you. It was our
flirtation that has brought you to this. I am to blame for everything."
"No, no," he declared. "It is I who committed the indiscretion of
falling in love with you when I knew that I, a poor captain, could never
hope to marry the daughter of the Minister of War."
She sighed, and tears welled again in her dark brown eyes. The general
at her side was no woman's man, but even he became affected at this
meeting.
"They allege that you sold to France a copy of the mobilisation scheme,"
she went on. "They say that I purposely locked you in my father's
library at Rome for three hours in order that you might have access to
the secret documents which were in a drawer in his writing-table."