“Hush!” he said cautiously. “We name no names here. Get up and see him; he never likes loitering down in these places. One can't be sure of everybody in this world.” And here he threw up his eyes, and seemed for a moment overwhelmed at the thought of human frailty and corruption.
“He is expecting me, then?” said I.
“Very impatiently, sir. He wanted to arouse you when he arrived, and he has been twice in here to see if you were really asleep.”
Something like a thrill ran through me to think that, as I lay there, this brigand, this man of crimes and bloodshed,—for, of course, he was such—had stood by my bedside, and bent over me. The Frate, however, urging me to activity, left me no time for these reflections, and I arose quickly, and followed him. I was eager to know what manner of man it was to whom I was about to make my approach; but I was hurried along a passage, and half pushed into a room, and the door closed behind me, before I had time for a word.
On a low settle-bed, just in front of me, as I entered, a man lay, smoking a short meerschaum, whose dress and get up, bating some signs of wear and ill-usage, would have made the fortune of a small theatre. His tall hat was wreathed with white roses, from the midst of which a tall feather, spray-like and light, stood up straight. His jacket of bright green, thrown open wide, displayed a scarlet waistcoat perfectly loaded with gold braiding. Leather breeches, ending above the knee, showed the great massive limb beneath to full advantage; while the laced stocking that came up to the calf served, on one side, as belt for a stiletto whose handle was entirely incrusted with precious stones. “You are a good sleeper, Signor Inglese,” said he, in a pleasant, richly toned voice, “and I feel sorry to have disturbed you.” This speech was delivered with all the ease and courtesy of a man accustomed to the world. “You may imagine, however, that I cannot well delay in places like this. Rocco, I believe, is very friendly to me; but where there are three hundred people there may easily be three traitors.”
I assented, and added that from what Fra Bartolo had told me, neither he nor his had much to fear in those parts.
“I believe so, too,” added he, caressing his immense mustache, which came down far below his chin on either side. “We have, between us, the best bond of all true friendship,—we need each other. You have brought the ransom in gold, I hope?”
“Yes; in gold of the English mint, too.”
“I 'd rather have our own. The zecchin has less alloy than your coin, and as what we take generally goes into the crucible, the distinction is of value.”
“If I had only known—”