“To whom does this island belong?”
“To Tuscany.”
“What game shall I find there!”
“Thousands of wild goats.”
“Who live upon the stones, I suppose,” said Franz with an incredulous smile.
“No, but by browsing the shrubs and trees that grow out of the crevices of the rocks.”
“Where can I sleep?”
“On shore in the grottos, or on board in your cloak; besides, if your excellency pleases, we can leave as soon as you like—we can sail as well by night as by day, and if the wind drops we can use our oars.”
As Franz had sufficient time, and his apartments at Rome were not yet available, he accepted the proposition. Upon his answer in the affirmative, the sailors exchanged a few words together in a low tone. “Well,” asked he, “what now? Is there any difficulty in the way?”
“No.” replied the captain, “but we must warn your excellency that the island is an infected port.”