"Pardon me, Signore," said I, "but an explanation from me may be shorter."
"Eh? so you are English, and speak Corsican?"
"Or such Tuscan," answered I, modestly, "as may pass or a poor attempt at it. Yes, I am English, and have come hither—as the Princess, your sister, will tell you—on a political errand which you may or may not consider important."
The Princess, who had turned and stood facing her brother again, threw me a quick look.
"I know nothing of that," she said hurriedly, "save that he came with five others in a ship from England and encamped at Paomia below; that, being taken prisoners, they professed to be seeking the Queen Emilia, to deliver her; and that thereupon of the six I let four go, keeping this one as hostage, with his friend, who has since died."
"And the crown," put in Stephanu. "The Princess has forgotten to mention the crown."
"What crown?"
"The crown, sir," said I boldly, seeing the Princess hesitate, "of the late King Theodore of Corsica, given by him into my keeping."
I saw the priest start as if flicked with a whip, and shoot me a glance of curiosity from under his loose upper lids. His pupil stepped up and thrust his face close to mine.
"Eh? So you were seeking me?" he demanded. "You are mistaken, sir," said I, "whatever your reason for such a guess. My companions—one of them my father, an Englishman and by name Sir John Constantine— are seeking the Queen Emilia, whom they understand to be held prisoner by the Genoese. Meanwhile your sister detains me as hostage, and the crown in pawn."