“Not really?” Constance opened her eyes in shocked surprise. “But surely, signora, you did not do it?”
The woman blinked.
“It would be impossible, signorina,” she contented herself with saying.
Constance, with grave concern, translated the sum of Tony’s enormities to her father; and turned back to the jailoress apologetically.
“My father is very much grieved that the man should have caused you so much trouble. But he says, that if we could see him, we could persuade him to be more reasonable. We talk his language, and can make him understand.”
The woman winked meaningly.
“Eh—he pretends he cannot talk Italian, but he understands enough to ask for what he wishes. I think—and the Signor-Lieutenant who ordered his arrest thinks—that he is shamming.”
“It was a lieutenant who ordered his arrest? Do you remember his name—was it Carlo di Ferara?”
“It might have been.” Her face was vague.
“Of the cavalry?”