“A little, eccellenza,” he frankly confessed.
“I have suffered severe illness,” I said, quietly, “and my eyes are still weak, as you perceive,” and I touched my glasses. “But I shall get stronger in time. Can you come with me for a few moments? I want your help in a matter of importance.”
He nodded a ready assent and followed me.
CHAPTER XXXI.
We left the Molo, and paused at a retired street corner leading from the Chiaja.
“You remember Carmelo Neri?” I asked.
Andrea shrugged his shoulders with an air of infinite commiseration.
“Ah! povero diavolo! Well do I remember him! A bold fellow and brave, with a heart in him, too, if one did but know where to find it. And now he drags the chain! Well, well, no doubt it is what he deserves; but I say, and always will maintain, there are many worse men than Carmelo.”
I briefly related how I had seen the captured brigand in the square at Palermo and had spoken with him. “I mentioned you,” I added, “and he bade me tell you Teresa had killed herself.”
“Ah! that I well know,” said the little captain, who had listened to me intently, and over whose mobile face flitted a shadow of tender pity, as he sighed. “Poverinetta! So fragile and small! To think she had the force to plunge the knife in her breast! As well imagine a little bird flying down to pierce itself on an uplifted bayonet. Ay, ay! women will do strange things—and it is certain she loved Carmelo.”