“We have been in your town, Ruggiero,” said one of the men, looking down into the little boat.

“I hope you gave a message from me to Don Pietro Casale,” answered Ruggiero.

“Health to us, Don Pietro is dead,” said the man, “and his wife is not likely to live long either.”

“Dead, eh?” cried Bastianello.  “He is gone to show the saints the nose we gave him when we were boys.”

“We can go back to Verbicaro when we please,” observed Ruggiero with a smile.

“Lend a hand on board, will you?” said the sailor.

So Ruggiero made the boat fast with the painter and both brothers scrambled over the side of the felucca.  They did not renew their conversation concerning Teresina, and an hour or two later they went up to the hotel to be in readiness for their masters, should the latter wish to go out.  Ruggiero sat down on a bench in the garden, but Bastianello went into the house.

In the corridor outside the Marchesa’s rooms he met Teresina, who stopped and spoke to him as she always did when she met him, for though she admired both the brothers, she liked Bastianello better than she knew—­perhaps because he talked more and seemed to have a gentler temper.

“Good-day, Bastianello,” she said, with a bright smile.

“And good-day to you, Teresina,” answered Bastianello.  “Can you tell me whether the padroni will go out to-day in the boat?”

“I think they will not,” answered the girl.  “But I will ask.  But I think they will not, because there is the devil in the house to-day, and the Signorina looks as though she would eat us all, and that is a bad sign.”

“What has happened?” asked Bastianello.  “You can tell me, because I will tell nobody.”

“The truth is this,” answered Teresina, lowering her voice.  “They have betrothed her to the Count, and she does not like it.  But if you say anything—.”  She laughed a little and shook her finger at him.

Bastianello threw his head back to signify that he would not repeat what he had heard.  Then he gazed into Teresina’s eyes for a moment.

“The Count is worse than an animal,” he said quietly.

“If you knew how true that is!” exclaimed Teresina, blushing deeply and turning away.  “I will ask the Marchesa if she will go out,” she added, as she walked quickly away.

Bastianello waited and in a few moments she came back.

“Not to-day,” she said.

“So much the better.  I want to say something to you, Teresina.  Will you listen to me?  Can I say it here?” Bastianello felt unaccountably nervous, and when he had spoken he regretted it.

“I hope it is good news,” answered the girl.  “Come to the window at the end of the corridor.  We shall be further from the door there, and there is more air.  Now what is it?” she asked as they reached the place she had chosen.

“It is this, Teresina,” said Bastianello, summoning all his courage for what was the most difficult undertaking of his life.  “You know my brother Ruggiero.”