“And for what end?” cried Riccabocca, thrown off his guard, and his breast dilated, his crest rose, and his eye flashed; valour and defiance broke from habitual caution and self-control. “But—pooh!” he added, striving to regain his ordinary and half-ironical calm, “it matters not to me. I grant, sir, that I know the Count di Peschiera; but what has Dr. Riccabocca to do with the kinsman of so grand a personage?”
“Dr. Riccabocca—nothing. But—” here Randal put his lip close to the Italian’s ear, and whispered a brief sentence. Then retreating a step, but laying his hand on the exile’s shoulder, he added, “Need I say that your secret is safe with me?”
Riccabocca made no answer. His eyes rested on the ground musingly.
Randal continued, “And I shall esteem it the highest honour you can bestow on me, to be permitted to assist you in forestalling danger.”
RICCABOCCA (slowly).—“Sir, I thank you; you have my secret, and I feel assured it is safe, for I speak to an English gentleman. There may be family reasons why I should avoid the Count di Peschiera; and, indeed, he is safest from shoals who steers clearest of his relations.”
The poor Italian regained his caustic smile as he uttered that wise, villanous Italian maxim.
RANDAL.—“I know little of the Count of Peschiera save from the current talk of the world. He is said to hold the estates of a kinsman who took part in a conspiracy against the Austrian power.”
RICCABOCCA.—“It is true. Let that content him; what more does he desire? You spoke of forestalling danger; what danger? I am on the soil of England, and protected by its laws.”
RANDAL.—“Allow me to inquire if, had the kinsman no child, the Count di Peschiera would be legitimate and natural heir to the estates he holds?”
RICCABOCCA.—“He would—What then?”