Violante bowed her graceful head to the young man's respectful salutation. "I am on my way to Hazeldean," resumed Randal, "and, seeing you in the garden, could not resist this intrusion."
RICCOBOCCA.—"YOU come from London? Stirring times for you English, but
I do not ask you the news. No news can affect us."
RANDAL (softly).—"Perhaps yes."
RICCABOCCA (startled).—"How?"
VIOLANTE.—"Surely he speaks of Italy, and news from that country affects you still, my father."
RICCABOCCA.—"Nay, nay, nothing affects me like this country; its east winds might affect a pyramid! Draw your mantle round you, child, and go in; the air has suddenly grown chill."
Violante smiled on her father, glanced uneasily towards Randal's grave brow, and went slowly towards the house. Riccabocca, after waiting some moments in silence, as if expecting Randal to speak, said, with affected carelessness,
"So you think that you have news that might affect me? /Corpo di Bacco/!
I am curious to learn what?"
"I may be mistaken—that depends on your answer to one question. Do you know the Count of Peschiera?"
Riccabocca winced, and turned pale. He could not baffle the watchful eye of the questioner.