t his friends could advance to him, would amount to the sum
demanded by the chief.

This done, Salvator easily persuaded himself that he should soon be
set at liberty, and the artist recovered his unconcern, and almost his
usual good spirits. The country around him was full of romantic
studies for his pencil. He had, besides, found in the society of the
children of Pietratesta two charming companions. He instructed them in
the elements of his art; and his pupils, to both of whom the study was
quite new, seemed never to grow tired of their task.

In a moment of good humor, he drew caricatures of each member of the
band, which created a great deal of amusement. Then he drew, with
great care, the portraits of the two children. This attention
profoundly touched the heart of the mother, and her tender sympathy,
almost wasting among these unfeeling men, found a secret pleasure in
rendering the captivity of the young painter less unhappy and less
hard. She conversed with him familiarly, and it gave her great
pleasure to see the care which he took to instruct her children.

So Salvator Rosa, to whom the band gave quite a considerable degree of
liberty, never dreamed of taking improper advantage of it. Thanks to
his fancy and his recklessness as an artist, he almost forgot that he
was the prisoner of a cruel master, and that his life was in peril.

But the ransom, which he had sent for, came not. Whether the letters
he had written failed to reach their destination, or whether his
friends were deaf to his request for assistance, he received no
answer. He wrote repeatedly, but always with the same result.

And so the months slipped by, and the chief began to grow impatient at
the long delay. His wife had more than once calmed his anger, and
prevented any catastrophe. At length several weeks went by, in which
the expeditions of the band were unfruitful. The provisions were
running low, and Pietratesta saw in his captive one unprofitable
mouth. Sivora, his wife, felt her influence to be growing weaker and
weaker under the increasing destitution and continued delay.

One day Pietratesta encountered his prisoner, and, addressing him in
an irritated voice,--

"Well?" he said, as if his question needed no other explanation.

"Nothing yet," responded Salvator Rosa, sadly.

"Ah, this is too much!" cried the brigand. "I begin to think you are
playing with me. But do you know the price Pietratesta makes those pay
who cross him?"