h bears
to his as I remember it. So you have the tale."

"And in the telling, Marc'antonio," said I, "it appears that you, who
champion his children, bear Theodore's memory no good will."

"Theodore!" Marc'antonio spat again. "If he were alive here and
before me, I would shoot him where he stood."

"For what cause?" I asked, surprised by the shake in his voice.

But Marc'antonio turned to the fire again, and would not answer.

As I remember, some three or four days passed before I contrived to
draw him into further talk; and, curiously enough, after trying him a
dozen times _per ambages_ (as old Mr. Grylls would have said) and in
vain, on the point of despair I succeeded with a few straight words.

"Marc'antonio," said I, "I have a notion about King Theodore."

"I am listening, cavalier."

"A suspicion only, and horribly to his discredit."

"It is the likelier to be near the truth."

"Could he--think you--have _sold_ his children to the Genoese?"

Marc'antonio cast a quick glance at me. "I have thought of that," he
said quietly. "He was capable of it."

"It would explain why they were allowed to live. A father, however
deep his treachery, would make that a part of the bargain."

Marc'antonio nodded.

"I would give something," I went on, "to know how Father Domenico
came by the secret. By confession of one of the sisters, you
suggest. Well, it may be so. But there might be another way--only
take warning that I do not like this Father Domenico--"

"I am listening."

"Is it not possible that he himself contrived the kidnapping--always
with King Theodore's consent?"

"Not possible," decided Marc'antonio, after a moment's thought.
"No more than you do I like the man: but consider. It was he who
sent us to find and bring them back to Corsica. At this moment, when
(as I will confess to you) all odds are against it, he holds to their
cause; he, a comfortable priest and a loose liver, has taken to the
bush and fares hardly for his zeal."

"My good friend," said I, "you reason as though a traitor must needs
work always in a straight line and never quarrel with his paymaster;
whereas by the very nature of treachery these are two of the
unlikeliest things in the world. Now, putting this aside, tell me if
you think your Prince Camillo the better for Father Domenico's
company? . . . You do not, I see."

"I will not say that," answered Marc'antonio, slowly. "The Prince
has good qualities. He will