nswer had destroyed
them.

"For my part," she added, "I don't really think any of us know much
about it. I wish we could find some citizen of the town, or some
reliable person, and ask him. I wonder whether the inn-keeper is a
trust-worthy man."

The Baron shook his head.

"I wouldn't trust one of them. They're the greatest rascals in the
country. Every man of them is in league with the Garibaldians and
brigands. This man would advise you to take whatever course would
benefit himself and his friends most."

"But surely we might find some one whose opinion would be reliable.
What do you say to one of my drivers? The one that drove our carriage
looks like a good, honest man."

"Well, perhaps so; but I wouldn't trust one of them. I don't believe
there's an honest vetturino in all Italy."

Lady Dalrymple elevated her eyebrows, and threw at Hawbury a glance of
despair.

"He speaks English, too," said Lady Dalrymple.

"So do some of the worst rascals in the country," said the Baron.

"Oh, I don't think he can be a very bad rascal. We had better question
him, at any rate. Don't you think so, Lord Hawbury?"

"Well, yes; I suppose it won't do any harm to have a look at the
beggar."

The driver alluded to was summoned, and soon made his appearance. He
was a square-headed fellow, with a grizzled beard, and one of those
non-committal faces which may be worn by either an honest man or a
knave. Lady Dalrymple thought him the former; the Baron the latter.
The result will show which of these was in the right.

The driver spoke very fair English. He had been two or three times
over the road. He had not been over it later than two years before. He
didn't know it was dangerous. He had never heard of brigands being
here. He didn't know. There was a signore at the hotel who might know.
He was traveling to Florence alone. He was on horseback.

As soon as Lady Dalrymple heard this she suspected that it was Count
Girasole. She determined to have his advice about it. So she sent a
private request to that effect.

It was Count Girasole. He entered, and threw his usual smile around.
He was charmed, in his broken English, to be of any service to miladi.

To Lady Dalrymple's statement and question Girasole listened
attentively. As she concluded a faint smile passed over his face. The
Baron watched him attentively.

"I know no brigand on dissa road," said he.

Lady Dalrymple looked triumphantly at the others.

"I have travai