She is a thing of whims.
Shall she hold the goblet of Italy in her hand till it overflows?
She writes love-letters to an English whitecoat.

I have read them.

Who bids her write?
Her whim! She warns her friends not to enter Milan.
She--whose puppet is she?
Not yours; not mine.

She is the puppet of an English Austrian!' Barto drew back, for Ammiani was advancing.
'What is it you mean ?' he cried.
'I mean,' said Ammiani, still moving on him, 'I mean to drag you first before Count Medole, and next before the signorina; and you shall abjure your slander in her presence.

After that I shall deal with you.