“You are not even an Italian.”

“That is but partly true, sir.”

“You have seen fit to deceive us by—­”

Tommaso threw wide the door.

“Il dejune e servito,” he said gruffly.

“What does that mean?” asked Uncle John.

“Luncheon is ready.  Shall we go down?”

“Yes; I’m hungry.”

They followed the man to the lower floor, where he ushered them into a low, cool room where a long table was set.  The walls were whitewashed and bore some religious prints, gaudily colored.  A white cloth covered the table, which was well furnished with modern crockery and glass, and antique silverware.

At the head of the table were two throne-like chairs, one slightly larger and more elevated than the other.  In the more important seat was a withered old woman with a face like that of a mummy, except that it was supplied with two small but piercing jet eyes that seemed very much alive as they turned shrewdly upon the strangers.  She was the only one of the company they found seated.  The Duke stood behind the smaller chair beside her, and motioned the Americans to occupy two places at the side of the table next him.  Opposite them, in the places adjoining the elevated dais, were two remarkable individuals whom Uncle John saw for the first time.  One was a Cappuccin monk, with shaven crown and coarse cassock fastened at the waist by a cord.  He was blind in one eye and the lid of the other drooped so as to expose only a thin slit.  Fat, awkward and unkempt, he stood holding to the back of his chair and swaying slightly from side to side.  Next to him was a dandified appearing man who was very slight and thin of form but affected the dress and manners of extreme youth.  Ferralti whispered to Uncle John that this was the doctor.

The table dropped a step in heighth from these places, and the balance of its length was occupied by several stalwart Sicilians, clothed in ordinary peasant costume, and a few silent, heavy-featured women.  Tato was not present.

“Signori,” said the Duke to the Americans, “allow me to present you to my mother, the head of our illustrious family; one who is known, admired and feared throughout Sicily as her Excellenza la Duchessa d’Alcanta.”

With the words the Duke bowed low to the old woman.  Uncle John and Ferralti also bowed low.  The lines of servitors humbly bent themselves double.  But the Duchessa made no acknowledgment.  Her bead like eyes searched the faces of the “guests” with disconcerting boldness, and then dropped to her plate.

At this signal the fat priest mumbled a blessing upon the food, the Duke waved his hand, and all the company became seated.

Uncle John felt as if he were taking part in a comic opera, and enjoyed the scene immensely.  But now his attention was distracted by the stewards bringing in steaming platters of macaroni and stewed mutton, from which they first served the Duchessa, and then the Duke, and afterward the guests.  The servants waited hungry-eyed until these formalities were completed, and then swept the platters clean and ate ravenously.