“Eh? so you are English, and speak Corsican?”

“Or such Tuscan,” answered I, modestly, “as may pass or a poor attempt at it.  Yes, I am English, and have come hither—­as the Princess, your sister, will tell you—­on a political errand which you may or may not consider important.”

The Princess, who had turned and stood facing her brother again, threw me a quick look.

“I know nothing of that,” she said hurriedly, “save that he came with five others in a ship from England and encamped at Paomia below; that, being taken prisoners, they professed to be seeking the Queen Emilia, to deliver her; and that thereupon of the six I let four go, keeping this one as hostage, with his friend, who has since died.”

“And the crown,” put in Stephanu.  “The Princess has forgotten to mention the crown.”

“What crown?”

“The crown, sir,” said I boldly, seeing the Princess hesitate, “of the late King Theodore of Corsica, given by him into my keeping.”

I saw the priest start as if flicked with a whip, and shoot me a glance of curiosity from under his loose upper lids.  His pupil stepped up and thrust his face close to mine.

“Eh?  So you were seeking me?” he demanded.  “You are mistaken, sir,” said I, “whatever your reason for such a guess.  My companions—­one of them my father, an Englishman and by name Sir John Constantine—­ are seeking the Queen Emilia, whom they understand to be held prisoner by the Genoese.  Meanwhile your sister detains me as hostage, and the crown in pawn.”

I had kept an eye on the priest as I pronounced my father’s name:  and again (or I was mistaken) the pendulous lids flickered slightly.

“You do not answer my main question,” the young man persisted.  “What are you doing here, in Corsica, with the crown of King Theodore?”

“I am the less likely to answer that question, sir, since you can have no right to ask it.”

“No right to ask it?” he echoed, stepping back with a slow laugh.  “No right to ask it—­I!  King Theodore’s son?”

I shrugged my shoulders.  I had a mind to laugh back at his impudence, and indeed nothing but the mercy of Heaven restrained me and so saved my life.  As it was, I heard an ominous growl and glanced around to find the whole company of bandits regarding me with lively disfavour, whereas up to this point I had seemed to detect in their eyes some hints of leniency, even of good will.  By their looks they had disapproved of their master’s abuseful words to his sister, albeit with some reserve which I set down to their training.  But even more evidently they believed to a man in this claim of his.

My gesture, slight as it was, gave his anger its opportunity.  He drew back a pace, his handsome mouth curving into a snarl.

“You doubt my word, Englishman?”

“I have no evidence, sir, for doubting King Theodore’s,” I answered as carelessly as I could, hoping the while that none of them heard the beating of my heart, loud in my own ears as the throb-throb of a pump.  “If you be indeed King Theodore’s son, then your father—­”