Francis laughed.

“The signoras are good enough to treat me as a brother,” he said, “and I will not affirm that they have not obtained some slight information.”

“I will warrant they have!” Rufino said.  “When my wife has made up her mind to get to the bottom of a matter, she will tease and coax till she succeeds.

“Ah, here is Matteo! he has been out posting the sentries for the night.”

The two friends had not indulged in a talk for some weeks, though they had occasionally met when Francis paid one of his flying visits to the island.

“I have just seen your boat being carried along,” Matteo said, as he entered the tent.  “I could not think what it was till I got close; but of course, when I saw Giuseppi, I knew all about it.  What are you going to do—­scout among the Genoese?”

“I am going to find out as much as I can,” Francis said.

“It’s a capital idea your bringing the boat across the island,” Matteo said.  “You are always full of good ideas, Francis.  I can’t make it out.  They never seem to occur to me, and at the present time, especially, the only ideas that come into my mind are as to the comfortable meals I will eat, when this business is over.  I never thought I cared much for eating before, but since I have had nothing but bread—­and not enough of that—­and an occasional fish, I have discovered that I am really fond of good living.  My bones ache perpetually with lying on the bare ground, and if I escape from this, without being a cripple for life from rheumatism, I shall consider myself lucky, indeed.  You are a fortunate fellow, Francisco; spending your time in the admiral’s comfortable palace, or flying about in a smooth-rowing gondola!”

“That is one side of the question certainly,” Francis said, laughing; “but there is a good deal of hard work, too, in the way of writing.”

“I should not like that,” Matteo said.  “Still, I think you have the best of it.  If the Genoese would come sometimes, and try and drive us off the island, there would be some excitement.  But, except when the admiral wishes a reconnaissance, or Barberigo’s galleys come down and stir them up, there is really nothing doing here.”

“That ought to suit you exactly, Matteo, for never but once did I hear you say you wanted to do anything.”

“When was that?” Rufino asked, laughing.

“Matteo conceived a violent desire to climb Mount Etna,” Francis said, “and it needed all my arguments to prevent his leaving the ship at Girgenti, while she was loading, and starting to make the ascent.”

“He would have repented before he had gone a quarter of the way up,” Rufino said.

“I might have repented,” Matteo replied stoutly, “but I would have done it, if I had begun.  You don’t know me yet, Rufino.  I have a large store of energy, only at present I have had no opportunity of showing what I am made of.

“And now, how do you intend to proceed, Francisco?  Have you any plan?”