‘I have heard such a tale,’ Salvarini replied sardonically. ‘The affair created quite a stir in the province at the time; but the peasants do me too much homage in connecting my name with so famous a character. Our Italian imagination does not rest at trifles.’
‘Pleasant for the officer who ordered them to strike down your brother’s wife,’ Le Gautier drawled, as he emitted a delicate curl of smoke from his nostrils. ‘Did you ever hear the name of the fellow?’
‘Curiously enough, his name is the same as yours, though I cannot be sure, as it is five years ago now. He was a Frenchman, likewise.’
‘Moral—let all Le Gautiers keep out of Paulo Lucci’s way,’ Maxwell exclaimed, rising to his feet. ‘We do not pay you the compliment of believing you are the same man; but these brigands are apt to strike first and inquire after. Of course, this is always presuming Salvarini’s brother and Paulo Lucci are one.—I am going as far as the Villa Salvarino. Who says ay to that proposal?—The ayes have it.’
They rose to their feet with one accord, and after changing their coats for something more respectable, trooped down the stairs.
‘You will not forget about Friday?’ Visci reminded. ‘I shall ask Sir Geoffrey and his daughter to come. We are going down to my little place on that day.—Will you make one, Le Gautier?’
‘A thousand thanks, my dear Visci,’ the Frenchman exclaimed; ‘but much as I should like it, the thing is impossible. I am literally overwhelmed in the most important work.’
A general laugh followed this solemn assertion.
‘I am sorry,’ Visci returned politely. ‘You have never been there. I do not think you have ever seen my sister?’
‘Never,’ Le Gautier replied with an inexplicable smile. ‘It is a pleasure to come.’