“Oh, no. I think it costs eight or ten.”
Again the boy looked at his sister.
“Pardon, Nobility. With your Excellency's permission, we should not desire a hundred lire then,” he said.
Peter and the Duchessa were not altogether to be blamed, I hope, if they exchanged the merest hint of a smile.
“Well, if I should give you fifty?” Peter asked.
“Fifty lire, Excellency?”
Peter nodded.
Still again the boy sought counsel of his sister, with his eyes.
“Yes, Excellency,” he said.
“You are sure you will be able to take care of it—you will not let people rob you,” the Duchessa put in, anxious. “They will wish to rob you. If you go to sleep in the train, they will try to pick your pocket.”