"Oh, the Americans are very rich, and they purchase my wares liberally. By the way, Signor Ferralti," turning to the young man, "have you decided yet the little matter of your own purchase?"
"I will not buy your candlestick, if that is what you refer to," was the response.
"No?"
"By no means. Fifty thousand lira, for a miserable bit of brass!"
"But I forgot to tell you, signore; the candlestick is no longer for sale," observed the Duke, with an evil smile. "Instead, I offer you a magnificent bracelet which is a hundred years old."
"Thank you. What's the price?"
"A hundred thousand lira, signore."
Ferralti started. Then in turn he smiled at his captor.
"That is absurd," said he. "I have no wealth at all, sir, but live on a small allowance that barely supplies my needs. I cannot pay."
"I will take that risk, signore," said the brigand, coolly. "You have but to draw me an order on Mr. Edward Leighton, of New York, for one hundred thousand lira—or say twenty thousand dollars—and the bracelet is yours."