Marc'antonio's conduct of the ensuing bargain was nothing short of masterly. The stranger—a fishmonger's runner—turned as he met us and trotted alongside, shaping his hands like a trumpet and bawling down his price. Marc'antonio, affecting a slight deafness, signalled to him to bawl louder, hunched his shoulders, shook his head vehemently, held up ten fingers, then eight, then (after a long and passionate protest from above) eight again. By this time two other traffickers had joined the contest, and with scarcely a word on his side Marc'antonio kept them going, as a juggler plays with three balls. Not until our boat's nose grated alongside the landing was the bargain concluded, and the first runner, a bag of silver in his fist, almost tumbled upon us down the slippery stairs in his hurry to clinch it.
I stepped ashore and held out a hand to the Princess who, in her character of paesana, very properly ignored it. Luckily the courtesy escaped notice. Stephanu was making fast the boat; the runner counting his coins into Marc'antonio's hand.
The Princess and I mounted the stairs and, after a pretence to loiter and await our comrades, strolled off towards the city around the circuit of the quay. We passed the great warehouses of the Porto Franco, staring up at them, but impassively, in true country fashion, and a little beyond them came to the entrance of a street which—for it was strewn with cabbage leaves and other refuse—we judged to lead to the vegetable market.
"Let us turn aside here," said the Princess. "I was brought up in a cabbage-market, remember; and the smell may help to put me at my ease."
Now along the quays we had met and passed but a few idlers, the hour being early for business; but in the market, when we reached it, we found a throng—citizens and citizens' wives and housekeepers, all armed with baskets and chaffering around the stalls. The crowd daunted me at first; but finding it too intent to heed us, I drew breath and was observing it at leisure when my eyes fell on the back of a man who, bending over a stall on my right, held forth a cabbage in one hand while with the other—so far as the basket on his arm allowed—he gesticulated violently, cheapening the price against an equally voluble saleswoman.
Good heavens! That back—that voice—surely I knew them!
The man turned, holding the cabbage aloft and calling gods, mortals, and especially the population of Genoa, to witness. It was Mr. Pett!—and, catching sight of me, he stared wildly, almost dropping the vegetable.
"Angels and ministers—" here, at a quick sign of warning from me, he checked himself sharply. "O anima profetica, il mio zio! . . . Devil a doubt but it sounds better in Shakespeare's mother-English," he added, as I hurried him aside; and then—for he still grasped the cabbage, and the stallwoman was shouting after him for a thief. "You'll excuse me, signora. Two soldi, I think you said? It is an infamy. What? Your cabbage has a good heart? Ah, but has it ever loved? Has it ever leapt in transport, recognizing a long-lost friend? Importunate woman, take your fee, basely extracted from me in a moment of weakness. O, heel of Achilles! O, locks of Samson! Go to, Delilah, and henceforth for this may a murrain light on thy cucumbers!
"Though, strictly speaking," said Mr. Fett, as I drew him away and down the street leading to the quay, "I believe murrain to be a disease peculiar to cattle. Well, my friend, and how goes it with you? For me"—here he tapped his basket, in which the cabbage crowned a pile of green-stuff—"I am reduced to buying my salads." He wheeled about, following my glance, and saluted the Princess, who had followed and overtaken us.
"Man," said I, "you shall tell us your story as soon as ever you have helped us to a safe lodging. But here are we—and there, coming towards us along the quay, are two comrades—four Corsicans in all, whose lives, if the Genoese detect us, are not worth five minutes' purchase."