“The gentlemen speak French?” he asked.
I answered in the affirmative, and our visitor announced himself as the huissier of the magistrates court. It was his duty to demand our presence before the bench. On what ground, I asked. The functionary responded fluently and with an evident sense of his own importance that we had passed the frontier without showing our papers, and by an unrecognized route; that one of us was an escaped political prisoner; that the others were charged with assisting in his flight; that a lieutenant of lancers had been sent to demand our return, and that we were at once to appear at court. To all of which I answered flatly that we would not go; whereupon the functionary retired, leaving, as we discovered afterwards, a guard outside the house. A little later came a gentleman in official robes, who turned out to be the chief-magistrate. He explained his errand with some pomp.
“Sir,” I said, when he had come to a peremptory end, “I am an Englishman and a soldier. Here are my credentials. This gentleman, the Honorable George Brunow, is a son of Lord Balmeyle, and is also an Englishman. This gentleman is the Conte di Rossano.”
And here, to my surprise, the Conte di Rossano arose from his seat at the table, and, turning towards the official, with one hand on the back of his chair, said, in a clear, loud voice:
“Also an English subject! I was naturalized before my marriage,” he added in a changed tone, and so sank into his seat again.
“You hear, sir,” I said, respectfully. “I am about to order a carriage, and in half an hour shall leave the town with these gentlemen and my servant on my way to England. Any official person molesting us will be held officially responsible for his conduct.”
The mayor wavered.
“I have the honor, sir, to wish you a good-day.”
I opened the door, and in walked Lieutenant Breschia.
“These are my birds,” he said, laughingly. “I haven't the pleasure of being acquainted with this gentleman,” signalizing the count, “but I dare say we shall learn to know each other.”