At the conclusion of this complimentary speech, Lucetta’s cheek showed a slight tinge of red—as if from some souvenir of that balcony scene.
“What a pity,” said the sindico, “I did not know this before! I might have done something to get you off.”
“Thanks, Signor Torreani. But it would have cost you dearly—at least 30,000 scudi.”
“Thirty thousand scudi!” exclaimed the company.
“You put a high price upon yourself, signor pittore?” sneeringly insinuated the officer.
“It is the exact sum fixed by Corvino.”
“He must have mistaken you for some milord. I suppose he has discovered his error, and let you off scot free?”
“Yes; and finger free too,” rejoined the escaped captive in a jovial tone—as he said so presenting his left hand to the gaze of the company.
Lucetta screamed; while her father leant forward, and examined the mutilated hand with a compassionate air.
“Yes,” he said; “this is indeed a proof that I could have done little for you. But tell us, signore! How did you escape from those cruel wretches?”