"Who is the Cavaliere Paolo?"
"A cousin of Count Carlo Baglioni, your worship. A man in middle life--my age--and a perfect devil."
"I doubt not, the breed is a bad one. Has he many men with him?"
"About six, excellency, and then, of course, there is the guard at the Porta San Angelo always at hand."
"Now listen to me, for we may not have time to talk further of this. When you have shown me the house we must separate. Go to the Albergo of the Rubicon--you know it?"
"Alas! no, excellency."
"It is behind the Palazzo Piccinino; you cannot miss it. Go there, and await me a few steps from the doors--you follow?"
"Yes, your worship."
We had now crossed the Vici dell' Elce, but passing the gate of that name, went onwards, and after a stiff climb reached the Porta San Angelo. Here my companion, betaking himself once more to his crutches and keeping ahead of me, turned southwards along the road which lined the walls towards Santa Agnese. Shortly before reaching the church, we came to a small but solid-looking building, half fortress, half dwelling-house, and Gian, stopping dead in front of it, turned round and began his whine:
"A copper for the poor cripple--a brown copper. The house, signore," speaking the last words under his breath as I came up.