“That depends entirely upon who the other person may be.”

“The person I mean is Lord Hawbury.”

“Lord Hawbury?  Indeed!” said Lady Dalrymple, in some surprise.  “But he’s in Rome.”

“No, ma’am, he’s not.  He’s here—­in this hotel.”

“In this hotel?  Here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m sure I should like to see him very much, and hear what he says about it.”

“I’ll go and get him, then,” said the Baron, and, rising briskly, he left the room.

In a short time he returned with Hawbury.  Lady Dalrymple expressed surprise to see him, and Hawbury explained that he was traveling with a friend.  Lady Dalrymple, of course, thought this a fresh proof of his infatuation about Minnie, and wondered how he could be a friend to a man whom she considered as Minnie’s persecutor and tormentor.

The Baron at once proceeded to explain how the matter stood, and to ask Hawbury’s opinion.

“Yes,” said Lady Dalrymple, “I should really like to know what you think about it.”

“Well, really,” said Hawbury, “I have no acquaintance with the thing, you know.  Never been on this road in my life.  But, at the same time, I can assure you that this gentleman is a particular friend of mine, and one of the best fellows I know.  I’d stake my life on his perfect truth and honor.  If he says any thing, you may believe it because he says it.  If he says there are brigands on the road, they must be there.”

“Oh, of course,” said Lady Dalrymple.  “You are right to believe your friend, and I should trust his word also.  But do you not see that perhaps he may believe what he says, and yet be mistaken?”

At this the Baron’s face fell.  Lord Hawbury’s warm commendation of him had excited his hopes, but now Lady Dalrymple’s answer had destroyed them.

“For my part,” she added, “I don’t really think any of us know much about it.  I wish we could find some citizen of the town, or some reliable person, and ask him.  I wonder whether the inn-keeper is a trust-worthy man.”

The Baron shook his head.

“I wouldn’t trust one of them.  They’re the greatest rascals in the country.  Every man of them is in league with the Garibaldians and brigands.  This man would advise you to take whatever course would benefit himself and his friends most.”

“But surely we might find some one whose opinion would be reliable.  What do you say to one of my drivers?  The one that drove our carriage looks like a good, honest man.”

“Well, perhaps so; but I wouldn’t trust one of them.  I don’t believe there’s an honest vetturino in all Italy.”

Lady Dalrymple elevated her eyebrows, and threw at Hawbury a glance of despair.

“He speaks English, too,” said Lady Dalrymple.

“So do some of the worst rascals in the country,” said the Baron.

“Oh, I don’t think he can be a very bad rascal.  We had better question him, at any rate.  Don’t you think so, Lord Hawbury?”