The door was opened, and a sergeant stepped into the room, saluting as he did so. He was the orderly of the troop.
“What is it?” inquired the officer.
“A prisoner,” replied the man, making a second obeisance.
“One of the bandits?”
“No, signor captain; on the contrary, a man who pretends to have been their prisoner, and who says he has just escaped from them.”
“What sort of man?”
“A young fellow in the dress of a citiadino—un Inglese, I take him to be; though he speaks our tongue as well as myself.”
The sindico rose from his chair. Lucetta had already started from hers, with a joyous exclamation, at the word Inglese. The escaped captive could be no other than he of whom they had been lately speaking, and of whom also she had been long thinking.
“Signor Torreani,” said the captain, turning towards his host with an air which showed that he too was gratified by the announcement, “I do not wish to disturb you in the performance of my duty. I shall go down-stairs to examine this prisoner my men have taken.”
“It is not necessary,” said the sindico; “you are welcome to bring him up here.”