"And the girl whom Castro-Reale abducted, whom you married to him--will you not tell me her name, uncle?" "Her name and her story are a secret which only three persons know to-day, she, myself, and one other. Stop there, Michel; no more questions on that subject. Let us return to the Piccinino, son of the Prince of Castro-Reale and of the peasant girl of Nicolosi. "This intrigue of the _Destatore_ was several years prior to his crime and his marriage. The treasure he left was not very considerable; but, as everything is relative, it was a fortune to Melina. She brought up her son as if she intended that he should rise above his position; in the bottom of her heart she longed to make a priest of him, and for several years I was his tutor and his guide. But he was barely fifteen years old when, having lost his mother, he left our convent and led a wandering life until he attained his majority. He had always cherished the idea of hunting up his father's former companions, and organizing a new band with their aid; but, from respect for his mother's wishes, for I ought to say that he really loved her, he had worked to acquire an education as if he had, in fact, intended to devote himself to the priestly profession. When he had recovered his liberty, he made use of it without informing me of his purpose. He had always supposed that I would blame him. Later, he was compelled to entrust his secret to me and seek my advice. "I was not sorry, I confess, to be rid of the guardianship of that young wolf, for he was the most untamable creature that I ever met. As fearless as his father, and even more intelligent, he is by instinct so cautious and cunning, and elusive, that I was uncertain at times whether I was dealing with the vilest of hypocrites or with the shrewdest diplomatist who ever tangled up the affairs of empires. He is a strange mixture of perfidy and honor, of magnanimity and vindictiveness. He has a portion of his father's virtues and good qualities. His vices and failings are of a different sort. Like his father, he is loyal in friendship, and his oath is sacred; but while his father, even when carried away by fierce passions, was always a true believer, and indeed devout in the depths of his heart, the son, if I am not mistaken, and if he has not changed, is the most placid and coolest atheist that ever lived. If he has passions, he gratifies them so secretly that they cannot be discovered. I know of but one, and that I have made no attempt to overcome,--it is hatred of the foreigner and love of country. That love is so intense that he carries it even to love of locality. Far from being a spendthrift like his father, he is economical and orderly, and owns a pretty little estate at Nicolosi, with a garden and some land, where he lives almost always alone, to all appearance, when he is not on some secret expedition in the mountains. But he arranges his absences with so much caution, and receives his friends with so much mystery,