“Is he, really? He looks like a pirate,” Peter murmured.
“Like a pirate? Luigi?” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” affirmed her master. “He wears green corduroy trousers, and a red belt, and a blue shirt. That is the pirate uniform. He has a swarthy skin, and a piercing eye, and hair as black as the Jolly Roger. Those are the marks by which you recognise a pirate, even when in mufti. I believe you said his name is Luigi?”
“Yes, Signorino—Luigi Maroni. We call him Gigi.”
“Is Gigi versatile?” asked Peter.
“Versatile—?” puzzled Marietta. But then, risking her own interpretation of the recondite word, “Oh, no, Signorino. He is of the country.”
“Ah, he's of the country, is he? So much the better. Then he will know the way to Castel Ventirose?”
“But naturally, Signorino.” Marietta nodded.
“And do you think, for once in a way, though not versatile, he could be prevailed upon to divert his faculties from the work of a gardener to that of a messenger?”
“A messenger, Signorino?” Marietta wrinkled up her brow.