‘Hungry! I had a whole kilo of sausage, and you should have seen it disappear.’ ‘These _facchini_ look as if they would not be averse to sharing his meal.’ ‘Poor fellows, they do look hungry.’ Marcia produced her purse and handed them a lira apiece. ‘Because I haven’t any luggage for you to carry, and because you like my dog,’ she explained in Italian. ‘Don’t tell Uncle Howard,’ she added in English. ‘I don’t believe one lira can make them paupers.’ ‘It would doubtless be difficult to pauperize them any more than they are at present,’ he agreed. ‘You don’t believe in Uncle Howard’s ideas of charity, do you?’ she inquired tentatively. ‘Oh, not entirely; but we don’t quarrel over it.—Perhaps,’ he suggested, ‘we’d better go out and find an empty compartment while the guards are not looking. I fear they might object to Marcellus—is that his name?—occupying a first-class carriage.’ ‘Marcellus, because I found him by the theatre.’ ‘Ah—I hope he will turn out as handsome a fellow as his namesake. Come, Marcellus; it’s time we were off.’ He picked the dog up by the nape of the neck and they started down the platform, looking for an empty carriage. They had their choice of a number; the train was not crowded, and first-class carriages in an Italian way-train are rarely in demand. As he was helping Marcia into the car, Sybert was amused to see Tarquinio, the proprietor of the Inn of the Italian People, hurrying into a third-class compartment, with a furtive glance over his shoulder as if he expected every corner to be an ambuscade of the secret police. The warning had evidently fallen on good ground, and the poor fellow was fleeing for his life from the wicked machinations of an omniscient premier. ‘If you will excuse me a moment, I wish to speak to a friend,’ Sybert said as he got Marcia settled; and without waiting for her answer, he strode off down the platform. She had seen the young Italian, weighed down by a bundle tied up in a bed-quilt, give a glance of recognition as he passed them; and as she watched Sybert enter a third-class compartment she had not a doubt but that the Italian was the ‘friend’ he was searching. She leaned back in the corner with a puzzled frown. Why had Sybert so many queer friends in so many queer places, and why need he be so silent about them? CHAPTER X SYBERT presently returned and dropped into the seat opposite Marcia; the guard slammed the door and the train pulled slowly out into the Campagna. They were both occupied with their own thoughts, and as neither found much pleasure in talking to the other, and both knew it, they made little pretence at conversation.