What had been found of the poor men who had perished had been brought home; there had been a great military funeral for them; their names were inscribed for ever on the roll of honour.

In time, when the political situation changed, an effort would be made to avenge their death, no doubt; for every man who had been murdered a hundred would be slain, or more, if possible, till even a Scythian might feel satisfied that their angry spirits were appeased by blood.

Angela knew nothing of all this, for she never left the house except to go to early mass every day, and Madame Bernard never spoke of the dead man nor of the lost expedition.
When the governess came home, a little after sunset, Angela was still sitting before the picture, her chin resting on her hand and her elbow on her knee as she leaned forward to see better in the failing light.
The girl turned her head with a bright smile, and Madame Bernard started in surprise when she saw the portrait.
'It is he!' she cried.

'It is he, to the very life!' 'Yes,' Angela answered softly, 'it is Giovanni.

He has been telling me that I must do my part, as he did his.