“What is your idea?” I asked, somewhat pacified.

“You say they ride together every day.  Yes—­very good.  The contessina will not ride to-day, partly because she will be worn out with fatigue from last night’s interview, and partly because she will make an effort to discover whether I have arrived to-day or not.  You can count on that.”

“I imagine so.”

“Very well,” he continued; “in that case, one or two things will happen:  either the count will go out alone, or they will all stay at home.”

“Why will Benoni not go out with the count?”

“Because Benoni will hope to see Hedwig alone if he stays at home, and the count will be very glad to give him the opportunity.”

“I think you are right, Nino.  You are not so stupid as I thought.”

“In war,” continued the boy, “a general gains a great advantage by separating his adversary’s forces.  If the count goes out alone, I will present myself to him in the road, and tell him what I want.”

“Now you are foolish again.  You should, on the contrary, enter the house when the count is away, and take the signorina with you then and there.  Before he could return you would be miles on the road to Rome.”

“In the first place, I tell you once and for all, Sor Cornelio,” he said, slowly, “that such an action would be dishonourable, and I will not do anything of the kind.  Moreover, you forget that, if I followed your advice, I should find Benoni at home,—­the very man from whom you think I have everything to fear.  No; I must give the count one fair chance.”  I was silent, for I saw he was determined, and yet I would not let him think I was satisfied.

The idea of losing an advantage by giving an enemy any sort of warning before the attack seemed to me novel in the extreme; but I comprehended that Nino saw in his scheme a satisfaction to his conscience, and smelled in it a musty odour of forgotten knight-errantry that he had probably learned to love in his theatrical experiences.  I had certainly not expected that Nino Cardegna, the peasant child, would turn out to be the pink of chivalry and the mirror of honour.  But I could not help admiring his courage, and wondering if it would not play him false at the perilous moment.  I did not half know him then, though he had been with me for so many years.  But I was very anxious to ascertain from him what he meant to do, for I feared that his bold action would make trouble, and I had visions of the count and Benoni together taking sudden and summary vengeance on myself.

“Nino,” I said, “I have made great sacrifices to help you in finding these people,”—­I would not tell him I had sold my vineyard to make preparations for a longer journey, though he has since found it out,—­“but if you are going to do anything rash I will get on my little ass and ride a few miles from the village until it is over.”  Nino laughed aloud.

“My dear professor,” he said, “do not be afraid.  I will give you plenty of time to get out of the way.  Meanwhile, the contessina is certain to send the confidential servant of whom you speak to give me instructions.  If I am not here, you ought to be, in order to receive the message.  Now listen to me.”