“All will be explained when we meet at Pisa. Away, now; to the Grand Duke—I will go to the negro and prepare him for your coming.”
“But allow me—”
“Not a word more, if you love me,” replied the violet-coloured domino, who, I was now convinced, was not Albert; it was not his voice—there was a mystery and a mistake; but I had become so implicated that I felt I could not retreat without sacrificing the parties, whoever they might be.
“Well,” said I, as I turned back to the palazzo, “I must go on now; for, as a gentleman and man of honour, I cannot refuse. I will give the packet to the Grand Duke, and I will also convey his treasure to Pisa, Confound this sky-blue domino!”
As I returned to the palazzo, I was accosted by the black domino.
“Milano!” replied I.
“Is all right, Felippo?” said he, in a whisper.
“All is right, Signor,” was my answer.
“Where is he?”
I pointed with my finger to a clump of orange-trees.