"Indeed, Signor, I do not know how I can recompense you for such a service."
"Signor, I deserve no recompense from you, as I merely advance the art of travelling, which through your exertions is about to become so attractive——"
"Signorine," said he to the beautiful girls of Ceprano, in the pure Roman dialect; "an old man's kiss always brings prosperity to the youthful; and this, Signor," he pointed to the old man with powdered hair, "wishes you to be happy."
The two young girls, with the most natural grace possible, offered their brows to the old man, who kissed them paternally as possible.
"I thank you, sir," said he to his interpreter. "I am indebted solely for this chapter to your politeness, and can express my pleasure only by dedicating it to you. To do so, however, it is necessary that I should know your name——"
"Write then, Ceprano, dedicated to Count Monte-Leone. But, Signor, shall not I know the name of the author of a work so interesting as that to which I have contributed?"
"The name of the writer who is indebted to you for the best chapter of his book, is the Prince de Maulear."
The Count made a brusque movement of surprise, and saluting the Prince coldly, left him. A quarter of an hour after, two carriages in different directions left Ceprano. Monte-Leone's took the road to Rome, the Prince de Maulear's that to Naples. The former, however, did not go to Rome; for, when he had come to the foot of a wooded mountain, he left the carriage, and accompanied by a man in a long cloak, who had hitherto sat in the carriage, Monte-Leone went into a thick underwood, and proceeding up a rocky path almost to the top of the mountain, went to the little town of Frenona, which is on the very brow. The night was near at hand, and the trees with their leaves, too early for the season, increased the darkness of the mountain path. Suddenly, at a distance of two hundred feet from them, a bright and sparkling light was seen approaching Monte-Leone and his companion. The Count uttered a sharp whistle, and the light went to the middle of the wood, and hurried like a will-o'-the-wisp towards the travellers. The light was a torch, borne by a man, dressed as a peasant and wrapped in a large cloak, which suffered nothing but his two sparkling eyes to be seen, which were scarcely less brilliant than the torch.
"Buon Giorno, Signor Pignana," said the Count to the new comer; "you see I have kept the appointment at San Paolo."
"The brothers await your excellency," said Pignana, bowing to the ground; "be pleased to follow me."