"That is well, my child, that is well. Forgive me," continued the monk. "My mind is always in the past; it is always busy with the memory of my poor murdered captain. Why did I leave him? Why had I turned monk? Ah! I was a coward too. If I had remained faithful to him in his ill-fortune, and patient with his vagaries, he never would have fallen into a wretched ambuscade, and perhaps he would be alive still! He would be proud and happy to have two sons, both brave and handsome! Ah! _Destatore_, _Destatore_! here am I weeping for you more bitterly than at first. To learn that you died by another hand than your own is like losing you again." And the monk, but a moment before so pitiless and unfeeling as he trampled upon the blood of the traitor, began to weep like a child. The old soldier, faithful beyond the grave, reappeared in him, and he embraced Michel, saying: "Comfort me; let me hope that we shall avenge him!" "Let us hope for Sicily!" replied Michel. "We have something better to do than perpetuate family quarrels; we have our country to serve! Ah! our country! That is a word that you had to explain to me yesterday, my brave soldier, but to-day I understand it perfectly." They exchanged a warm grasp of the hand and entered Villa Palmarosa. XLVIII THE MARQUIS Master Barbagallo awaited them at the gate with a most anxious countenance. As soon as he saw Michel, he ran to meet him and kneeled to kiss his hand. "Up, up, sirrah!" said the young prince, disgusted by such servility. "You have served my mother faithfully. Give me your hand, as befits a man!" They crossed the park together; but Michel did not choose to receive as yet the homage of all the servants, who were not likely, however, to be so annoying as the majordomo; for he followed him everywhere, asking his forgiveness again and again for the scene at the ball, and striving to convince him that if the proprieties had permitted him to wear his spectacles on that occasion, his short-sightedness would not have prevented him from noticing that Michel resembled, feature for feature, that mighty captain, Giovanni Palmarosa, deceased in 1288, whose portrait he had delivered to the Marquis della Serra on the preceding day, in his, Michel's, presence. "Ah! how I regret," he said, "that the princess has given the marquis all the Palmarosas! But your highness will surely recover that noble and priceless portion of your inheritance. I am certain that his excellency the marquis will restore to you all the ancestors of both families, by his will, or even sooner." "I think that they do very well where they are," replied Michel, with a smile. "I am not fond of portraits which have the gift of speech." He made his escape from the majordomo's obsession, and walked to the cliff in order to enter by way of the Casino. But as he stepped into his mother's boudoir, he found that Barbagallo was puffing at his heels, having followed him up the staircase.