The place was silent and seemed deserted.  There was a languor in the atmosphere that invited sleep.  Uncle John sought his room and lay down for an afternoon nap, soon falling into a sound slumber.

When he awoke he found Ferralti seated beside his bed.  The young man was pale, but composed.

“Mr. Merrick,” said he, “what have you decided to do?”

Uncle John rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“I’m going to purchase that ring,” he answered, “at the best price the Duke will make me.”

“I am disappointed,” returned Ferralti, stiffly.  “I do not intend to allow myself to be robbed in this way.”

“Then write a farewell letter, and I’ll take it to your friends.”

“It may not be necessary, sir.”

Uncle John regarded him thoughtfully.

“What can you do?” he asked.

Ferralti leaned forward and whispered, softly:  “I have a stout pocket-knife, with a very long blade.  I shall try to kill the Duke.  Once he is dead his people will not dare to oppose us, but will fly in terror.  It is only Il Duca’s audacity and genius that enables this robber’s den to exist.”

“You would rather attempt this than pay?”

“Sir, I could not bear the infamy of letting this scoundrel triumph over me.”

“Well, Ferralti, you are attempting a delicate and dangerous task, but so far as I can, I will help you.”

He took the revolver from his pocket and handed it to his companion.

“It’s loaded in every chamber,” he whispered.  “Perhaps it will serve your purpose better than a knife.”

Ferralti’s eyes sparkled.

“Good!” he exclaimed, concealing the weapon.  “I shall watch for my opportunity, so as to make no mistake.  Meantime, do you bargain with the Duke, but postpone any agreement to pay.”

“All right, my lad.  I’ll wait to see what happens.  It may add a good deal to the cost of that ring, if you fail; but I’ll take the chances of that for the sake of the game.”

He paused a moment, and then added: 

“Is your father really dead, Count?”

“Yes; the Duke has sent me the cablegram he received from his agent.  I cannot doubt his authority.  My father and I have not been friendly, of late years.  He was a severe man, cold and unsympathetic, but I am sorry we could not have been reconciled before this awful fate overtook him.  However, it is now too late for vain regrets.  I tried not to disobey or antagonize my one parent, but he did not understand my nature, and perhaps I failed to understand his.”

He sighed, and rising from his chair walked to the window to conceal his emotion.

Uncle John remained silent, and presently Tommaso entered to notify them that dinner would be served in a half hour, and the Duke expected them to join him at the table.

The next morning Mr. Merrick bargained pleasantly with his jailer, who seemed not averse to discussing the matter at length; but no conclusion was reached.  Ferralti took no part in the conversation, but remained sullen and silent, and the Duke did not press him.