"I have been to see a cousin," said Giovanni, "who lives on the way to El Deserta." "Ah! So you have a cousin here?" "Yes, signore." How old he looked, poor devil! Hillard had not taken particular notice of him during the past week's excursions. Giovanni had aged ten years since they landed. "And was this cousin glad to see you? And is he to be trusted?" "Both, signore. He had some news. She is--dancer in one of the Paris music-cafes." Hillard kindled his pipe thoughtfully. And patiently Giovanni waited, knowing that shortly his master would offer some suggestion. "Would you like me to give you the necessary money to go to Paris and bring her back to the Sabine Hills?" he asked softly. "I shall go to Paris, signore--after." "You will never find him." "Who can say?" "What is his name?" Hillard had never till this moment asked this question. "I know it; that is sufficient. He is high, signore, very high; yet I shall reach him. If I told you his name--" "There would be the possibility of my warning him." "That is why I hesitate." "You are a Catholic, Giovanni." Giovanni signified that he was. "Does not the God of all Catholics, of all Christians, in fact, does He not say that vengeance is His and that He will repay?" "But there are so many of us, signore, so many of us small and of slight importance, that, likely enough, God with all His larger cares has not the time to remember us. What may happen to him in the hereafter does not concern me; for he will certainly be in the purgatory of the rich and I in the purgatory of the poor. It must be now, now!" "Go your own way," said Hillard, dismissing him; "I shall never urge you again." Giovanni gone, Hillard leaned against the casement. The sun was bright this morning and the air was clear. He could see Naples distinctly. Below, the fishermen and their wives, their bare feet plowing in the wet sands, were drawing in the nets, swaying their bodies gracefully. Presently the men in the boat landed the catch, and the net sparkled with living silver. So long as Giovanni was with him, he would be morally responsible for his actions. He would really be glad when the grim old Roman took himself off on his impossible quest. How the sight of this beach recalled his boyhood! How many times had he and his brilliant mother wandered over these sands, picking up the many-colored stones, or baiting a young star-fish, or searching the caverns of the piratical Saracens that honeycombed the clifts, or yet, again, taking a hand at the nets! Sometimes he grew very lonely; for without a woman, either of one's blood or of one's choice, life holds little. Ah, that woman in the mask, that chimera of a night, that fancy of an hour! And then Merrihew burst in upon him, wildly excited, and flourished the hotel register. "Look at this!" he cried breathlessly. He flung the book on the table and pointed with shaking finger. Hillard came forward, and this is what he saw: