“I am sure that I should know him,” replied Paoli. “I knew his father well, and the sons of Corsicans too closely resemble their fathers to render his recognition improbable.”
“I am not a rich man, as you know,” said Cromillian, “but I’ll wager ten louis d’or, Paoli, that, if you saw Vandemar Della Coscia, you would not know him.”
“But if I do,” cried Paoli, “and I point him out to the Batistellis, do I get the ten louis d’or?”
“If you point him out to me first,” said Cromillian, “you will get the ten louis d’or. If you point him out to anybody else, what you will get will be determined hereafter. Is it a wager?” he asked.
“It is,” cried Paoli, and the men shook hands.
Paoli could not refrain from referring again to the vendetta between the Batistellis and the Della Coscias.
“The Batistellis are rich and powerful,” he began, “and who is there so bold as to think of contending against them?”
“I dare!” cried Cromillian. “I will shed every drop of my blood to prevent such diabolical injustice.”
“But not with your single arm?” questioned Paoli. “None could be found rash enough to join you in so mad a scheme.”
“Yes, one will,” answered Cromillian, “one who is trusty and true—my Protector!”