“O Princess,” answered he, “I will own that Corsica has left the Queen, your mother, overlong here in captivity.  For reasons of state it was decided to work northward from point to point, clearing the Genoese as we went.  We did not reckon that, before we reached Giraglia, an Englishman of genius would step in to anticipate us.  Our hopes, Princess, fell short of an event so happy.  But I can say that every Corsican is glad, and would wish to be such a hero.”

“Did you, then, clear the Genoese from Nonza?” I put in hastily, noting the curl of my mistress’s lips.

“Sir, there were no Genoese to clear.  We bombarded it idly, only to learn that the Commandant Fornari had abandoned it some hours before; that he and his men had escaped northward in long boats, rowing close under the land.”

I glanced at the Princess, and saw her mouth whiten.  “Excuse me,” I said.  “Do you tell me that the whole garrison of Nonza had escaped?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”  Paoli, too, glanced at the Princess; but for an instant only.  “We landed after the fortress had fired one single gun at us, which we silenced.  Beside it we found two men standing at bay; its only defenders; and they, strange to tell, were Corsicans.  I have brought them with me on my own ship.”

“You need not tell me their names,” said I.

“My brother?” the Princess gasped.  “Where is my brother?”

The General lowered his eyes.  “I regret to tell you, Princess, that your brother has fallen into our enemies’ hands.  They have carried him north, to Genoa, and with him the Priest who was his confessor.  This I learned from your two heroes, who had entered Nonza with no other purpose than to rescue him, but had arrived too late.  They shall be brought ashore, that you may question them.

“But what is this?” said a voice from the turret-door behind us.  “My son Camillo a prisoner, and in Genoa!”

We turned all, to see the Queen standing there, on the threshold.  The Princess, suddenly pallid, shot a look at Paoli—­a look which at once defied and implored him.

“It is true, dear mother,” said she, steadying her voice.

“God help us all!” The Queen clasped her hands.  “The Genoese have no pity.”

“Let your Majesty be reassured,” said Paoli, slowly, “The Genoese, to be sure, have no pity; yet I can almost promise they will not proceed to extremities with your son.  An enemy, madam, may have good reasons for negotiating; and although the Genoese Government would be delighted to break me on the wheel, yet, on some points, I can compel them to bargain with me.”

He lifted his eyes.  Mine were fixed on the Princess’s, and I saw them thank him for the falsehood.

“Come, dear mother,” she said, taking the Queen’s hand.  “Though Camillo be in Genoa he can be reached.”

“My poor boy was ever too rash.”

“He can be reached,” the Princess repeated—­but I saw her wince—­ “and he shall be reached.  General, I pray you to send these two men to me.  And now, mother, let one sorrow be enough for a time.  There is woman’s work to be done upstairs; take me with you that I may help.”