Something that sounded like a curse burst from the lips of Matteo.
"And what are your news?" inquired Raphael, with what seemed to Horace a somewhat anxious air.
One of the robbers replied with a laugh, "Some good business done to-day! English travelers are always worth the plucking! It will take you some time with your curing and your carolling to bring in the value of a plaything like this;" and he held up the glittering gold chain which had been torn from the neck of Mrs. Cleveland.
"Any blood shed?" inquired Raphael quickly, resting his clenched hand on the table, and sternly regarding the last speaker. When a short account of what had occurred was given to him, the improvisatore looked relieved, and Horace instinctively felt that he had a friend in the man whom he had called to his face a low musician, a jailbird, a companion of thieves.
Raphael bent towards his brother and whispered some question, to which Enrico replied by glancing up towards the recess occupied by the captive; then heaping food upon a trencher which was before the Rossignol, he bade him eat and drink and refresh himself after his long walk.
Raphael shook his head, and pushed the trencher away.
"If you will not eat, you shall sing," cried Matteo. "Beppo here has a voice which he might have borrowed from a raven, and Marco's is like a muffled drum—we've not had a singer worth listening to, since Carlo was shot in the wood!"
Raphael did not appear much more disposed to sing than to eat, but Matteo spoke like one whose will was a law which few would have dared to oppose; and the musician, albeit reluctantly, laid his hand on the guitar.
"Give us the jovial old Spanish drinking song, with the bolero—give it out bold and free!" exclaimed Beppo.
"I shall choose my own song," replied Raphael coldly, "and sing it in what manner I list."