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Updated: May 13, 2025
We have decided that the news from the king's army is good." A perceptible shudder in Vittoria's frame at this concluding sentence caught Corte's eye. "Are you dissatisfied with that arrangement?" he addressed her boldly. "I am, Colonel Corte," she replied. So simple was the answering tone of her voice that Corte had not a word.
Seeing him frown in thought, she continued, after a moment, "You told me of a great detective agency one which sent that man Corte here to betray Narcone." "Yes, the Pinkertons. I was thinking of them. I believe it can be done. At any rate, leave it to me to try, and if I succeed no one shall know about it, not even our own police.
The only care taken by Marc'antonio was to follow the bridle-tracks winding among the foothills, and give a wide berth to the highroad running north and south through Corte, especially to the bridges crossing the Golo River, at each of which, he assured me, we should find a guard posted of Paoli's militia.
Still the Castello held out, and Trivulzio was debating how best to reduce this almost impregnable citadel, when Bernardino da Corte sent a herald to parley with Francesco Bernardino Visconti. At the end of a few days the faithless governor agreed to surrender the Castello, in exchange for a large sum of money and the concession of various privileges for his family and friends.
A burst of laughter checked him; for his seniors by many years could not hear such veteran's counsel from a hurried boy without being shrewdly touched by the humour of it, while one or two threw a particular irony into their tones. "When we do slay a victim, we will come to you as our augur, my Carlo," said Agostino. Corte was less gentle.
Visitors come and go freely Messer Jacopo of Ferrara, the architect who was "dear to Leonardo as a brother," the courtly poet Gaspare Visconti, and Vincenzo Calmeta, Duchess Beatrice's secretary, or, it may be, the great Messer Galeaz himself, whose big jennet and Sicilian horse the master has been drawing as models for the great equestrian statue standing outside in the Corte Vecchia.
Further expostulations being disregarded, he turned his head to look at the poor panting beast under his charge, and went slowly up to him: they walked off together, a crest-fallen pair. "You have gained the victory, signorina," said Ugo Corte. She replied, smiling, "My poor Beppo! it's not difficult to get the best of those who love us."
Rainy dawn and the tongues of the churches ushered in the last day of street fighting. Ammiani found Romara and Colonel Corte at the head of strong bodies of volunteers, well-armed, ready to march for the Porta 'rosa. All three went straight to the house where the Provisional Government sat, and sword in hand denounced Count Medole as a traitor who sold his country to the king.
Keep watch, dear Ammiani; a good start in a race is a kick from the Gods." With that, Corte turned to the point of his finger on the map. He conceived it possible that Carlo Ammiani, a Milanese, had reason to anticipate the approach of people by whom he, or they, might not wish to be seen. Had he studied Carlo's face he would have been reassured.
Corte asked her curiously for she had surprised and vexed his softer side why she distinguished him with such remarkable phrases only to declare her contempt for him. "It's the flag whipping the flag-pole," murmured Agostino; and he now spoke briefly in support of the expedition to Rome; or at least in favour of delay until the King of Sardinia had gained a battle.
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