"

The Sicilian shook his head slowly.

"You have been told my name when I had the honor of being presented to
you at Rome," he said, "and at any chance mention you might recall it. I
prefer to tell it to you, and rely upon your honor."

"As you like."

"My name is Leonardo di Marioni!"

"By Jove! of course it is!" the Englishman exclaimed. "I should have
thought of it in a moment. I remember Davenport made me laugh when he
introduced us. His pronunciation's so queer, you know, and he's only
been at Rome about a month, so he hasn't had time to pick it up. Good
old Cis! he was always a dunce! I suppose his uncle got him in at the
Embassy."

"No doubt," the Sicilian answered politely. "I have only had the
pleasure of meeting your cousin once or twice, and I know him but
slightly. You will not forget my request, and if you have occasion to
address me, perhaps you will be so good as to do so by the name of
'Cortegi.' It is the name by which I am known here, and to which I have
some right."

The Englishman nodded.

"All right. I'll remember. By the bye," he went on, "I had the pleasure
of meeting your sister in Naples, I believe. She is engaged to marry
Martin Briscoe, isn't she?"

The Sicilian's face darkened into a scowl; the thin lips were tightly
compressed, and his eyes flashed with angry light.

"I was not aware of it," he answered haughtily.

The other raised his eyebrows.

"Fact, I assure you," he continued suavely, not noticing the Sicilian's
change of countenance. "Martin told me about it himself. I should have
thought that you would have known all about it. Briscoe isn't half a bad
fellow," he went on meditatively. "Of course, it isn't altogether
pleasant to have a father who makes pickles, and who won't leave off,
although he must have made a fine pot of money. But Martin stands it
very well. He isn't half a bad fellow."

The Sicilian rose from his chair with a sudden impetuous movement. The
moonlight fell upon his white, furious face and black eyes, ablaze with
passion. He was in a towering rage.

"I repeat, sir, that I know of no such engagement!" he exclaimed, in a
voice necessarily subdued, but none the less fierce and angry. "I do not
understand your nation, which admits into the society of nobles such
men. It is infamous! In Sicily we do not do these things. For such a man
to think of an alliance with a Marioni is more than presumption--it is
blasphemy!"

"That's all very well, but I on