“My life is not worth a hundred scudi to any of them,” I replied, laughing; “but I am willing to forego the please of drawing you now, bellissima, if you will tell me where you live, and let me come and paint you there at my leisure.”
“You’re a brave one,” she said, with a little laugh; “there is not another man in all Ascoli who would dare to pay me a visit without an escort of twenty soldiers. But I am too grateful for your amiability to let you run such a risk. Addio, Signor Inglese. There are many reasons why I can’t let you draw my picture, but I am not ungrateful, see!”—and she offered me her cheek, on which I instantly imprinted a chaste and fraternal salute.
“Don’t think that you’ve seen the last of me, carrissima,” I called out, as she turned away. “I shall live on the memory of that kiss till I have an opportunity of repeating it.”
And as I watched her retreating figure with an artist’s eye, I was struck with its grace and suppleness, combined, as I had observed while she was helping me to lead the donkey, with an unusual degree of muscular strength for a woman.
The spot at which this episode had taken place was so romantic that I determined to make a sketch of it, and the shades of evening were closing in so fast that they warned me to hurry if I would reach the town before dark. I had just finished it and was stooping to pick up by air-gun, when I heard a sudden rush, and before I had time to look up I was thrown violently forward on my face, and found myself struggling in the embrace of a powerful grasp, from which I had nearly succeeded in freeing myself, when the arms which were clasping me were reinforced by several more pairs, and I felt a rope being passed round my body.
“All right, signors!” I exclaimed. “I yield to superior numbers. You need not pull so hard; let me get up, and I promise to go with you quietly.” And by this time I had turned sufficiently on my back to see that four men were engaged in tying me up.
“Tie his elbows together and let him get up,” said one; “he is not armed. Here, Giuseppe, carry his stick and paint-box while I feel his pockets. Corpo di Baccho! twelve bajocchi,” he exclaimed, producing those copper coins with an air of profound disgust. “It is to be hoped he is worth more to his friends. Now, young man, trudge, and remember that the first sign you make of attempting to run away means four bullets through you.”
As I did not anticipate any real danger, and as a prolonged detention was a matter of no consequence to a man without an occupation, I stepped forward with a light heart, rather pleased than otherwise with anticipations of the brigand’s cave, and turning over in my mind whether or not I should propose to join the band.
We had walked an hour and it had become dark, when we turned off the road, up a narrow path that led between rocky sides to a glade, at the extremity of which, under an overhanging ledge, was a small cottage, with what seemed to be a patch of garden in front.
“Ho! Anita!” called out the man who appeared to be the leader of the band; “open! We have brought a friend to supper, who will require a night’s lodgings.”