’Maso, as he led the way to the dwelling of Vito Viti, would fain ask a few questions, in the hope of appeasing certain doubts that beset him.

“Since when, Signor Capitano,” he inquired, “have you English taken to sailing luggers?  It is a novel rig for one of your craft.”

“Corpo di Bacco!” answered the other, laughing, “friend of mine, if you can tell the precise day when brandy and laces were first smuggled from France into my country, I will answer your question.  I think you have never navigated as far north as the Bay of Biscay and our English Channel, or you would know that a Guernsey-man is better acquainted with the rig of a lugger than with that of a ship.”

“Guernsey is a country I never heard of,” answered ’Maso simply; “is it like Holland—­or more like Lisbon?”

“Very little of either.  Guernsey is a country that was once French, and where many of the people still speak the French language, but of which the English have been masters this many an age.  It is an island subject to King George, but which is still half Gallic in names and usages.  This is the reason why we like the lugger better than the cutter, which is a more English rig.”

’Maso was silent, for, if true, the answer at once removed many misgivings.  He had seen so much about the strange craft which struck him as French, that doubts of her character obtruded; but if her captain’s account could only be substantiated, there was an end of distrust.  What could be more natural than the circumstance that a vessel fitted out in an island of French origin should betray some of the peculiarities of the people who built her?

The podesta was at home, in expectation of this visit, and ’Maso was first admitted to a private conference, leaving the stranger in an outer room.  During this brief conference, the pilot communicated all he had to say—­both his suspicions and the seeming solution of the difficulties; and then he took his leave, after receiving the boon of a paul.  Vito Viti now joined his guest, but it was so dark, lights not having yet been introduced, that neither could distinguish the other’s countenance.

“Signor Capitano,” observed the magistrate, “the deputy-governor is at his residence, on the hill, and he will expect me to do him the favor to bring you thither, that he may do you the honors of the port.”

This was said so civilly, and was, in itself, both so reasonable and so much in conformity with usage, that the other had not a word to say against it.  Together, then, they left the house, and proceeded toward the government-dwelling—­a building which has since become celebrated as having been the residence of a soldier who came so near subjugating Europe.  Vito Viti was a short, pursy man, and he took his time to ascend the stairs-resembling street; but his companion stepped from terrace to terrace with an ease and activity that, of themselves, would have declared him to be young, had not this been made apparent by his general bearing and his mien, as seen through the obscurity.