“Ah, you 're the other man.” And as he spoke, he hung his head, and seemed hopelessly lost in thought. “Have you seen Mr. Hammil?” asked he.
“No, my Lord.”
“You must see Mr. Hammil. Till you see Mr. Hammil, you need n't come to me.”
“Very well, my Lord,” said I, moving towards the door.
“Wait a moment. You know Italy well, I am told. Do you know Cavour?”
“No, my Lord,” said I.
“Ah! They say he over-eats; have you heard that?”
“I can't say that I have, my Lord; but my acquaintance with Italy and with Italians is very slight, indeed.”
“Why did they recommend you, then, for this affair? I told Gresson that I wanted a man who could have ready access to their public men, who knew Balbi, Gino Capponi, Ricasoli, and the rest of them. Now, sir, how is it possible, without intimacy with these men and their opinions, that you could write such leading articles as I suggested in, their papers? How could you ever get admission to the columns of the 'Opinione' and the 'Perseveranza,' eh? Answer me that.”
“I am afraid, my Lord, there is some grave misunderstanding here. I never dreamed of proposing myself for such a difficult task. I came here on a totally different mission. It was to take your Lordship's orders about the ransom and rescue of a young Englishman who has been captured by the brigands in Southern Italy—”