“Why not?” cried the old Duchessa, contemptuously.  “It is the girl—­always the girl—­you make excuses for.  But have I not ruled our domain—­I, who am a woman?”

Tato herself answered, in a quiet voice.

“And what have you become, nonna, more than an outcast?” she enquired.  “What use to you is money, or a power that the world would sneer at, did the world even suspect that you exist?  You are a failure in life, my nonna, and I will not be like you.”

The Duchessa screamed an epithet and glared at the child as if she would annihilate her; but no fitting words to reply could she find.

Uncle John smiled delightedly.  He felt no sense of humiliation or revolt at eavesdropping in this den of thieves, and to be able to gain so fair a revelation of the inner life of this remarkable family was a diversion not lightly to be foregone.

“So far, we have managed to escape the law,” resumed the Duke.  “But always it may not be our fortune to do this, if we continue this life.  It is now a good time to stop.  Of one American we will gain a quarter of a million lira—­a fortune—­and of the other one hundred and fifty thousand lira.  With what we already have it is enough and more.  Quietly we will disband our men and go away.  In another land we live the respectable life, in peace with all, and Tato shall be the fine lady, and forget she once was a brigand’s daughter.”

The child sprang up in glee, and clasping her father’s neck with both arms kissed him with passionate earnestness.

Silently the Duchessa watched the scene.  Her face was as pallid and immobile as ever; even the eyes seemed to have lost expression.  But the next words showed that she was still unconquered.

“You shall take the money of the fat pig of an American; it is well to do so.  But the youth who boldly calls himself Ferralti shall make no tribute to this family.  He shall die as I have declared.”

“I will not take the risk,” asserted the Duke, sourly.

“Have the others who lie in the pit told tales?” she demanded.

“No; but they died alone.  Here are two Americans our prisoners, and they have many and powerful friends, both at Taormina and at Naples.  The man Merrick, when he goes, will tell that Ferralti is here.  To obtain his person, alive or dead, the soldiers will come here and destroy us all.  It is folly, and shows you are old and imbecile.”

“Then go!” she cried, fiercely.  “Go, you and Tato; take your money and escape.  And leave me my valley, and the youth Ferralti, and my revenge.  Then, if I die, if the soldiers destroy me, it is my own doing.”

“In this new world, of which you know nothing, escape is not possible,” replied the duke, after a moment’s thought.  “Ferralti must be accounted for, and because I captured him they would accuse me of his death, and even Tato might be made to suffer.  No, madame.  Both the Americans must be killed, or both set free for ransom.”