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Updated: June 3, 2025
She was slim and tall, about twenty-seven years of age, with beautiful black hair and finely-formed features. Her almond-shaped eyes were likewise dark, but had a phosphorescent gleam, which gave her the name of Luciola, or the fire-fly. She was dressed in a red satin dress, and wore a jaunty black felt hat.
The spark had dropped into the powder barrel; from all sides the patriots rallied around the national standard, and, amid the ringing of the alarm bells, the insurrection kept growing in dimensions. Luciola had long ago left her place at the window and stood on a barricade, waving her flag and spurring on the combatants. The Croatians retreated after about an hour.
No exciting detail did Luciola neglect. The curé listened to the end, without interrupting, greatly to the housekeeper's disappointment, as she had made her narrative piquant in the hope of tempting her master to ask questions. But he showed no emotion of any kind, and only remarked at last that Luciola was quite right not to believe gossip about the Prince, or indeed evil of any one.
He did not fear death itself but what would become of Luciola in case he died? The last meeting of the patriots was to take place this very evening. As it was, there were but a few of these in comparison to the number of their oppressors, and if but one remained away the good work might be seriously hampered.
Aslitta was moved to become angry, but he restrained himself, and laughingly said: "Why should not others have the right to admire La Luciola?" The diva trembled, but a look from Aslitta gave her courage, and, trying to appear cool, she said: "Really, count, you frightened me; I hardly recognized you."
"Thanks, my darling," murmured the young man; "you are staking your existence to save my country a whole life would not suffice to reward you." Luciola threw herself into the outstretched arms of Aslitta. "You love me, Giorgio?" "Dearly; you are my goddess, my all." "Oh, Giorgio; nothing shall be too difficult for me to do for you. But go now, the time has come."
"Oh, certainly; Valentine, the only one whom I love to remember among all my past acquaintances." "Well, then, Valentine is now Madame Morrel. They left France and went to India. They needed a governess for their little daughters, and so she asked Madame Danglars to take the position." "Poor mother," muttered Luciola, sorrowfully. "How hard it must have been for her to take a dependent position."
"Come, Milla," said La Luciola, "wherever we are, we are under the protection of a powerful friend." They were ushered into a beautifully furnished hallway, which led to a room furnished with heavy velvet draperies. A man with gray hair and aquiline nose, our old friend Bertuccio, received the ladies with a deep bow.
"Poor sister," murmured Haydee, "how you must have suffered." "Yes, I suffered greatly," continued Luciola, with tears in her eyes. "The world appeared to be a desert, and so I devoted myself to art. In Naples I discovered that there was something besides the applause of the crowd and one's own ambition!
We will capture La Luciola, and bring her to the citadel!" Loud applause greeted the major's words, but before he had reached the coach a hand grasped him by the throat, and a hoarse voice cried in his ear: "If you touch a hair of La Luciola's head, you are a dead man." It was Aslitta.
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