Uncle John plied his knife and fork busily and found the food excellently prepared.  Ferralti seemed to have little appetite.  Some of his teeth had been knocked out and his broken wrist, which had but partially healed, had been wrenched in the scrimmage of the night before so that it caused him considerable pain.

The Duke attempted little conversation, doubtless through deference to the aged Duchessa, who remained absolutely silent and unresponsive to her surroundings.  He praised his wine, however, which he said was from their own vineyards, and pressed the Americans to drink freely.

When she had finished her meal the Duchessa raised a hand, and at the signal the whole company arose and stood at their places while two of the women assisted her to retire.  She leaned upon their shoulders, being taller than her son, but displayed surprising vigor for one so advanced in years.

When she had gone the others finished at their leisure, and the conversation became general, the servants babbling in their voluble Italian without any restraint whatever.

Then the Duke led his prisoners to the veranda and offered them cigars.  These were brought by Tato, who then sat in the duke’s lap and curled up affectionately in his embrace, while the brigand’s expression softened and he stroked the boy’s head with a tender motion.

Uncle John watched the little scene approvingly.  It was the first time he had seen Tato since the child had lured him through the tunnel.

“Your son, Duke?” he asked.

“Yes, signore; my only child.  The heir to my modest estate.”

“And a very good brigand, already, for his years,” added Mr. Merrick.  “Ah, Tato, Tato,” shaking his head at the child, “how could you be so cruel as to fool an innocent old chap like me?”

Tato laughed.

“I did not deceive you, signore.  You but misunderstood me.  I said Signor Ferralti was hurt, and so he was.”

“But you said he needed my assistance.”

“Does he not, signore?”

“How do you speak such good English?”

“Father Antoine taught me.”

“The monk?”

“Yes, signore.”

“My child is a linguist,” remarked the Duke, complacently.  “Sh—­he has been taught English, German and French, even from the days of infancy.  It is very good for me, for now Tato can entertain my guests.”

“Have you no Italian guests, then?” asked Uncle John.

“No, since Italy owns Sicily, and I am a loyal subject.  Neither have I many Germans or Frenchmen, although a few wander my way, now and then.  But the Americans I love, and often they visit me.  There were three last year, and now here are two more to honor me with their presence.”

“The Americans make easier victims, I suppose.”

“Oh, the Americans are very rich, and they purchase my wares liberally.  By the way, Signor Ferralti,” turning to the young man, “have you decided yet the little matter of your own purchase?”