The Duchessa looked at the little girl.

The little girl wore a medal of the Immaculate Conception on a ribbon round her neck—­a forlorn blue ribbon, soiled and frayed.

“Oh, you have a holy medal,” said the Duchessa.

“Yes, noble lady,” said the girl, dropping a courtesy, and lifting up her sad little weazened face.

“She has been saying her prayers all along the road,” the boy volunteered.

“That is right,” approved the Duchessa.  “You have not made your First Communion yet, have you?”

“No, Excellency,” said the girl.  “I shall make it next year.”

“And you?” the Duchessa asked the boy.

“I made mine at Corpus Christi,” said the boy, with a touch of pride.

The Duchessa turned to Peter.

“Do you know, I haven’t a penny in my pocket.  I have come out without my purse.”

“How much ought one to give them?” Peter asked.

“Of course, there is the fear that they might be robbed,” she reflected.  “If one should give them a note of any value, they would have to change it; and they would probably be robbed.  What to do?”

“I will speak to the boy,” said Peter.  “Would you like to go to Turin by train?” he asked.

The boy and girl looked at each other.  Yes, Excellency,” said the boy.

“But if I give you money for your fare, will you know how to take care of it—­how to prevent people from robbing you?”

“Oh, yes, Excellency.”

“You could take the train this evening, at Venzona, about two kilometres from here, in the direction you are walking.  In an hour or two you would arrive at Milan; there you would change into the train for Turin.  You would be at Turin to-morrow morning.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

“But if I give you money, you will not let people rob you?  If I give you a hundred lire?”

The boy drew back, stared, as if frightened.

“A hundred lire—?” he said.

“Yes,” said Peter.

The boy looked at his sister.

“Pardon, Nobility,” he said.  “With your condescension, does it cost a hundred lire to go to Turin by train?”

“Oh, no.  I think it costs eight or ten.”

Again the boy looked at his sister.

“Pardon, Nobility.  With your Excellency’s permission, we should not desire a hundred lire then,” he said.

Peter and the Duchessa were not altogether to be blamed, I hope, if they exchanged the merest hint of a smile.

“Well, if I should give you fifty?” Peter asked.

“Fifty lire, Excellency?”

Peter nodded.

Still again the boy sought counsel of his sister, with his eyes.

“Yes, Excellency,” he said.

“You are sure you will be able to take care of it—­you will not let people rob you,” the Duchessa put in, anxious.  “They will wish to rob you.  If you go to sleep in the train, they will try to pick your pocket.”