“Just twelve bajocchi,” he answered with a sneering laugh.  “Come, amico mio, you will have to give us the names of some of your friends.”

“I am tolerably intimate with his Holiness the Pope, and I have a bowing acquaintance with the King of Naples, whom may God speedily restore to his own,” I replied in a light and airy fashion, which seemed exceedingly to exasperate the man called Croppo.

“Oh yes, we know all about that; we never catch a man who does not profess to be a Nero of the deepest dye in order to conciliate our sympathies.  It is just as well that you should understand, my friend, that all are fish who come into our net.  The money of the Pope’s friends is quite as good as the money of Garibaldi’s.  You need not hope to put us off with your Italian friends of any colour:  what we want is English gold—­good solid English gold, and plenty of it.”

“Ah,” said I, with a laugh, “if you did but know, my friend, how long I have wanted it too.  If you could only suggest an Englishman who would pay you for my life, I would write to him immediately, and we would go halves in the ransom.  Hold!” I said, a bright idea suddenly striking me; “suppose I were to write to my Government—­how would that do?”

Croppo was evidently puzzled:  my cheerful and unembarrassed manner apparently perplexed him.  He had a suspicion that I was even capable of the audacity of making a fool of him, and yet that proposition about the Government rather staggered him.  There might be something in it.

“Don’t you think,” he remarked grimly, “it would add to the effect of your communication if you were to enclose your own ears in your letter?  I can easily supply them; and if you are not a little more guarded in your speech, you may possibly have to add your tongue.”

“It would not have the slightest effect,” I replied, paying no heed to this threat; “you don’t know Palmerston as I do.  If you wish to get anything out of him you must be excessively civil.  What does he care about my ears?” And I laughed with such scornful contempt that Croppo this time felt that he had made a fool of himself; and I observed the lovely girl behind, while the corners of her mouth twitched with suppressed laughter, make a sign of caution.

“Per Dio!” he exclaimed, jumping up with fury, “understand, Signor Inglese, that Croppo is not to be trifled with.  I have a summary way of treating disrespect,” and he drew a long and exceedingly sharp-looking two-edged knife.

“So you would kill the goose”—­and I certainly am a goose, I reflected—­“that may lay a golden egg.”  But my allusion was lost upon him, and I saw my charmer touch her forehead significantly, as though to imply to Croppo that I was weak in the upper storey.

“An imbecile without friends and twelve bajocchi in his pocket,” he muttered savagely.  “Perhaps the night without food will restore his senses.  Come, fool!” and he roughly pushed me into a dark little chamber adjoining.  “Here, Valeria, hold the light.”