Outside the city they were soon upon the high road which wound up the deep green valley of the Bisagno away into the mountains, ever ascending to the little hill-town of Molassana. The scene was delightful in the moonlight as they climbed the steep hill and then descended again into the valley, Lisette all the time gossiping on in a manner which interested and amused him.
Her arrival had put an end to his boredom, and, though he was longing to get away from his surroundings, she certainly cheered him up.
They had walked for nearly an hour, when, declaring she felt tired, they sat upon a rock to rest and eat the sandwiches with which they had provided themselves.
Two carabineers in cloaks and cocked hats who met them on the road put them down as lovers keeping a clandestine tryst. They never dreamed that for both of them the police were in search.
“Now tell me something concerning yourself, mademoiselle,” Hugh urged presently.
“Myself! Oh! la la!” she laughed. “What is there to tell? I am just of la haute pegre—a truqueuse. Ah! you will not know the expression. Well—I am a thief in high society. I give indications where we can make a coup, and afterwards bruler le pegriot—efface the trace of the affair.”
“And why are you here?”
“Malheureusement! I was in Orleans and a friquet nearly captured me. So Il Passero sent me here for a while.”
“You help Il Passero—eh?”
“Yes. Very often. Ah! m’sieur, he is a most wonderful man—English, I think. Girofle (genteel and amiable), like yourself.”