Clinch, for it was he, scouring the shore in quest of the lugger, on his way back to the Proserpine, gave a growl when he found that he must speak in a foreign tongue, if he would continue the discourse; then he mustered all the Italian of which he was master for the occasion.  Having cruised long on the station, this was sufficient, however, for his present purpose.

“Is that a boat from Massa or from Capri?” he inquired.

“Neither, S’nore,” answered Raoul, afraid to trust Carlo’s conscience with the management of such a dialogue.  “We come round the cape, from St. Agata, and carry figs to Napoli.”

“St. Agata, aye, that is the village on the heights; I passed a night there myself, in the house of one Maria Giuntotardi—­”

“Who can this be?” murmured Ghita—­“my aunt knows no forestieri!”

“An Inglese, by his thick speech and accent.  I hope he will not ask for figs for his supper!”

Clinch was thinking of other things at that moment; and when he continued, it was to follow the train of his own thoughts.

“Have you seen anything of a barone-looking lugger,” he asked, “French-rigged, and French-manned, skulking anywhere about this coast?”

“Si—­she went north, into the Gulf of Gaeta, just as the sun was setting, and is, no doubt, gone to anchor under the cannon of her countrymen.”

“If she has, she’ll find herself in hot water,” answered Clinch, in English.  “We’ve craft enough up there, to hoist her in and dub her down to a jolly-boat’s size, in a single watch.  Did you see anything of a frigate this evening, near the Point of Campanella?  An Inglese, I mean; a tight six-and-thirty, with three new topsails.”

“Si—­the light you see here, just in a range with Capri, is at her gaff; we have seen her the whole afternoon and evening.  In fact, she towed us kindly round the cape, until we got fairly into this Bay.”

“Then you are the people for me?  Was there a man hanged on board her or not, about sunset?”

This question was put with so much interest, that Raoul cursed his interrogator in his heart; imagining that he was burning with the wish to learn his own execution.  He was also now aware that this was he boat which had left the Proserpine about noon.

“I can tell you there was not, s’nore—­if that will gladden your heart.  A man was all ready to be hanged, when Captain Cuffe was pleased to order him taken down.”

“Just as three heavy guns were fired up at town—­was it not so?” Clinch eagerly inquired.

“Diable! this man may have been my preserver, after all!  You say true, s’nore; it was just as three guns were fired up at Naples; though I did not know those guns had anything to do with the intended execution.  Can you tell me if they had?”

“If they had!  Why I touched them off with my own hands, they were signals made by the admiral to spare poor Raoul Yvard, for a few days at, least.  I am rejoiced to hear that all my great efforts to teach the fleet were not in vain.  I don’t like this hanging, Mr. Italian.”