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It
is a city with a great history------"
"So was Athens," she interrupted, smiling;
"but it was 'rather sluggish from its size and
needed a gadfly to rouse it'----"
Riccardo struck his hand upon the table.
"Why, we never thought of the Gadfly! The very man!"
"Who is that?"
"The Gadfly--Felice Rivarez. Don't you remember
him? One of Muratori's band that came
down from the Apennines three years ago?"
"Oh, you knew that set, didn't you? I remember
your travelling with them when they went on
to Paris."
"Yes; I went as far as Leghorn to see Rivarez
off for Marseilles. He wouldn't stop in Tuscany;
he said there was nothing left to do but laugh,
once the insurrection had failed, and so he had
better go to Paris. No doubt he agreed with
Signor Grassini that Tuscany is the wrong place
to laugh in. But I am nearly sure he would come
back if we asked him, now that there is a chance
of doing something in Italy."
"What name did you say?"
"Rivarez. He's a Brazilian, I think.


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