“What has that to do with it?” asked Beatrice with some curiosity.

“It is natural, Excellency.  For if Don Gennaro went to the syndic and said, ’Signor Sindaco, Ruggiero of the Children of the King has threatened to kill me,’ then the syndic would send for the gendarmes and say, ’Take that Ruggiero of the Children of the King and put him in, as we say, and see that he does not run away, for he will do a hurt to somebody.’  And perhaps they would catch me and perhaps they would not.  Then Bastianello, my brother, would wait in the road in the evening for Don Gennaro, and would lay a hand on him, perhaps, or both.  And I think that Don Gennaro would rather be dead in his telegraph office than alive in Bastianello’s hands, because Bastianello is very strong in his hands, Excellency.  And that is all the truth.”

“But I do not understand it all, Ruggiero, though I see what you mean.  I am afraid it is your language that is different from mine.”

“It is natural, Excellency,” answered the sailor, a deep blush spreading over his white forehead as he stood bareheaded before her.  “You are a great lady and I am only an ignorant seaman.”

“I do not mean anything of the sort, Ruggiero,” said Beatrice quickly, for she saw that she had unintentionally hurt him, and the thought pained her strongly.  “You speak very well and I have always understood you perfectly.  But you spoke of the King’s Children and I could not make out what they had to do with the story.”

“Oh, if it is that, Excellency, I ask your pardon.  I do not wonder that you did not understand.  It is my name, Excellency.”

“Your name?  Still I do not understand—–­”

“I have no other name but that—­dei figli del Re—­” said Ruggiero.  “That is all.”

“How strange!” exclaimed Beatrice.

“It is the truth, Excellency, and to show you that it is the truth here is my seaman’s license.”

He produced a little flat parchment case from his pocket, untied the thong and showed Beatrice the first page on which, was inscribed his name in full.

“Ruggiero of the Children of the King, son of the late Ruggiero, native of Verbicaro, province of Calabria—­you see, Excellency.  It is the truth.”

“I never doubt anything you say, Ruggiero,” said Beatrice quietly.

“I thank you, Excellency,” answered the sailor, blushing this time with pleasure.  “For this and all your Excellency’s kindness.”

What a man he was she thought, as he stood there before her, bareheaded in the sun-shot shade under the trees, the light playing upon his fair hair and beard, and his blue eyes gleaming like drops from the sea!  What boys and dwarfs other men looked beside him!

“Do you know how your family came by that strange name, Ruggiero?” she asked.