Some of the houses had been turned into shops, mostly for the sale of curios.  Uncle John and his nieces had scarcely passed a hundred yards into the town when one of these shops arrested their attention.  It was full of antique jewelry, antique furniture, antique laces and antique pottery—­all of the most fascinating description.  The jewelry was tarnished and broken, the lace had holes in it and the furniture was decrepit and unsteady; but the proprietor cared nothing for such defects.  All was very old, and he knew the tourist was eager to buy.  So he scattered his wares inside and outside his salesroom, much as the spider spreads his web for the unwary, and waited for the inevitable tourist with a desire to acquire something ancient and useless.

The girls could not be induced to pass the shop.  They entered the square, low room and flooded the shopman with eager questions.  Notwithstanding Frascatti’s assertion that few in Taormina could speak English, this man was quite intelligible and fixed his prices according to the impression his wares made upon the artistic sense of the young American ladies.

It was while they were intently inspecting some laces that the proprietor suddenly paused in his chatter, removed his hat and bowed almost to the floor, his face assuming at the same time a serious and most humble expression.

Turning around they saw standing outside the door a man whom they recognized at once as their fellow passenger aboard the “Princess Irene.”

“Oh, Signor Valdi!” cried Patsy, running toward him, “how strange to find you again in this out-of-the-way place.”

The Italian frowned, but in a dignified manner took the hand of all three girls in turn and then bowed a greeting to Mr. Merrick.

Uncle John thought the fellow had improved in appearance.  Instead of the flannel shirt and Prince Albert coat he had affected on shipboard he now wore a native costume of faded velvet, while a cloak of thin but voluminous cloth swung from his shoulders, and a soft felt hat shaded his dark eyes.

His appearance was entirely in keeping with the place, and the American noticed that the villagers who passed doffed their hats most respectfully to this seemingly well-known individual.  But mingled with their polite deference was a shyness half fearful, and none stopped to speak but hurried silently on.

“And how do we happen to find you here, Signor Valdi?” Patsy was saying.  “Do you live in Taormina?”

“I am of this district, but not of Taormina,” he replied.  “It is chance that you see me here.  Eh, Signor Bruggi, is it not so?” casting one of his characteristic fierce glances at the shopkeeper.

“It is so, your excellency.”

“But I am glad you have come to the shadow of Etna,” he continued, addressing the Americans with slow deliberation.  “Here the grandeur of the world centers, and life keeps time with Nature.  You will like it?  You will stay?”