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Updated: June 4, 2025
"And you have never seen me before?" "Never that I know of." "Were you never at Siviano, on the lake of Iseo?" I faltered. He said calmly: "I am unacquainted with that part of Italy." My heart grew cold and I was silent. "You mistook me for a friend, I suppose?" he added. "Yes," I cried, "I mistook you for a friend;" and with that I fell on my knees by his bed and cried like a child.
Martinengo succeeded in transporting the arms through the enemy's country from the Piedmontese frontier to Iseo, and thence to his native city. When he reached Brescia, he found that the Austrians had evacuated the town, though they still occupied the castle which frowns down upon it.
She was paler than ever, and her step had lost its lightness. Yet she did not seem to share her husband's political anxieties; one would have said that she was hardly aware of them. She seemed wrapped in a veil of lassitude, like Iseo on a still gray morning, when dawn is blood-red on the mountains but a mist blurs its reflection in the lake.
"Come," he said, "your legs catch cold, my friend, and will burn slowly. Stretch them here upon the Campo while I ask you some questions. And remember, for every lie you tell me there shall be another wedge in the boot you are about to wear. You understand that, signorè?" "Excellency, the man that could lie to the Prince of Iseo has yet to be born."
My future friend, the old Count, had found me at work on one of his fruit-farms up the valley, and hearing that I was ill-treated by my step-father a drunken pedlar from the Val Mastellone, whom my poor mother a year or two earlier had come across at the fair of Lovere he had taken me home with him to Iseo.
We saw Charles Albert's broken forces flung back from the Mincio to the Oglio, from the Oglio to the Adda. We followed the dreadful retreat from Milan, and saw our rescuers dispersed like dust before the wind. But all the while no word came to us of Roberto. These were dark days in Lombardy; and nowhere darker than in the old villa on Iseo.
The bravo, who had fallen on his knees, for he believed that a trick had again delivered him into the hands of his enemies, looked up at the words, and stared at the monk as at an apparition. "Holy Virgin!" he cried, "it is the Prince of Iseo." The priest continued in the jester's tone: "As you say, old comrade, the Prince of Iseo.
His step-father had been a laborer on one of the fruit-farms of a Milanese count who owned large estates in the Val Camonica; and that gentleman, taking a fancy to the lad, whom he had seen at work in his orchards, had removed him to his villa on the lake of Iseo and had subsequently educated him for the Church.
"Your Excellency's pardon," he exclaimed very humbly; "were we not alone, you would find me more discreet. I know well that the Prince of Iseo is dead in Venice at least. But to Fr
This inference was confirmed by Don Egidio's telling me that he came from a village of Val Camonica, the radiant valley which extends northward from the lake of Iseo to the Adamello glaciers.
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