"A gentleman to see the signorina," she announced; "an English gentleman." The woman turned pale with fear, and her fingers trembled. She would not even glance at the name on the card. "Tell him that I see no one. I am ill. I will not see him, be his business what it may. Do you hear, child? Go and send him away." The girl curtsied and disappeared. Her mistress stepped back into the room, and listened fearfully. Soon there came what she had dreaded, the sound of an altercation. She could hear Nicolette protesting in her shrill _patois_, and a rather vulgar, but very determined English voice, vigorously asserting itself. Then there came the sound of something almost like a scuffle, and Nicolette came running in with red eyes. "Signorina, the brute, the brute!" she cried; "he will come in. He dared to lay his hands upon me. See, he is here! Oh, that Marco had been in the house! He should have beaten him, the dog, the coward, to oppose a woman's will by force!" While she had been sobbing out her complaint, her assailant had followed up his advantage, and Mr. Benjamin Levy, in a rather loud check suit, and with a cringing air, but with a certain dogged determination in his manner, appeared. Mrs. Martival turned to him with quiet dignity, but with flashing eyes. "Sir, by what right do you dare to enter my house by force, and against my command? I will not speak with you or know your business. I will have no communication with you." "Then your son will be hanged!" Mr. Benjamin said, with unaccustomed bluntness. Mrs. Martival trembled, and sank into a chair. Mr. Benjamin followed up his advantage. "I am not from the police. I have no connection with them. On the other hand, I am considerably interested in saving your son, and I tell you that I can put into your hands the means of doing so. Now, will you listen to me?" Something in Mrs. Martival's face checked him. The features had suddenly become rigid, and an ashy pallor had stolen over them. Nicolette, who had been lingering in the room, suddenly threw herself on her knees beside her mistress's side, and caught hold of her hands. "Oh, the wretch!" she cried, "the miserable wretch; he has killed my mistress!" He stood helplessly by while she ran backwards and forwards with cold water, smelling salts, and other restoratives, keeping up all the while a running fire of scathing comments upon his heartless conduct, of which, needless to say, he understood not a single word. Beneath his breath he cursed this unlucky fainting fit. He had already lost a day on the way, and the time was short. What if she were to be ill--too ill to be moved! The very thought made him restless and uneasy. In the midst of the confusion Mrs. Martival's housekeeper returned from her marketing in the little town, and to his relief he found that she understood English. He interrupted Nicolette's shrill torrents of abuse against him, and briefly explained the situation.