"Come, come, Signor Orbi," replied the boy, "I know you well, remember; and I know, that though you may have changed your doublet, you cannot have changed what is within it. If you do not say immediately what you want, I will call those who will make you." And he approached one of the other doors which the room displayed, and raised his hand towards the latch. "Hist, hist, Ignati!" cried the Italian. "By Heavens! if you do, you shall never hear what I have got to tell you,--something that would make your heart beat with joy if you knew it." "And what is that?" said the boy, still standing near the door, and looking at his fellow-countryman with a face of scorn and doubt. "Come hither, and I will tell you," said the Italian; but the boy shook his head, and Orbi added in a low tone, "You know who your mother was, Ignati; but do you know your father?" The boy gazed at him bitterly and in silence, without making any further answer; and the man added, "He is now in Blois." Ignati instantly sprang forward towards him, exclaiming, "Where? Where? Where can I find him? I have still the letter from my dead mother. I have still all the proofs given me by the Marone. Where is he? where is he?" "Come, let us sit down by the fire," said the man, "and I will tell thee more;" and finding the boy now quite willing to do what he wished, the man sat down by the fire with him, calculating the various results of particular lines of conduct open before him, but without suffering any one good principle or feeling to mingle at all with his considerations. He had spoken the words which had called Ignati to him simply as a matter of impulse, and the first question he asked himself was, whether he should tell the boy more of the truth or not. Various considerations, however, induced him to go on, for he had a little scheme in his head which rendered it expedient for him to embarrass the proceedings of the Abbé de Boisguerin, on the following morning after the deed proposed was done, as much as possible. "You know, Ignati," he said, "that I always loved you, my good youth." "You gave me bitter proofs of it," replied Ignati. "Nay, nay; it was my way," replied the Italian. "If you had been my own son, it would have been the same." "I dare say," replied Ignati, "you would have murdered your own son almost as readily as you tried to murder me." "Nay, boy, I tried not to murder thee," rejoined the man. "I was not such a fool; that would never have answered my purpose." "You did it by halves," said the boy. "But come, Master Orbi, tell me more about this matter you spoke of; and tell me too what brings you here? Where is my father to be found, if, as you say, he is here?"