Sybert told the woman rather curtly that she need not be at the expense of feeding the boy any longer, the signorina would take him home to run errands. The woman quickly changed her manner at this, and refused to part with him. Since she had cared for him when he was little, it was time for him to repay the debt now that she was growing old. Sybert succinctly explained that she had forfeited all right to the child, and that if she made any trouble he would tell the police, who, he added parenthetically, were his dearest friends. Without further parleying, he picked up the boy and they walked out of the house, followed on the woman’s part by angry prayers that ‘apoplexies’ might fall upon them and their descendants. Curious groups of people had gathered outside the house, and they separated silently to let them pass. At the gateway the morro-players stopped their game to crowd around the carriage with shrill inquiries as to what was going to be done with Gervasio. The driver leaned from his seat and stared in stupid bewilderment at this rapid change of fares. But he whipped up his horse and started with dispatch, apparently moved by the belief that if he gave them time enough they would invite all Castel Vivalanti to drive. As they rattled down the hill Sybert broke out into an amused laugh. ‘I fear your aunt won’t thank us, Miss Marcia, for turning Villa Vivalanti into a foundling-asylum.’ ‘She won’t care when we tell her about it,’ said Marcia, comfortably. She glanced down at the thin little face resting on Sybert’s shoulder. ‘Poor little fellow! He looks hungrier than Marcellus. The woman said he was eleven, and he’s scarcely bigger than Gerald.’ Sybert closed his fingers around Gervasio’s tiny brown wrist. ‘He’s pretty thin,’ he remarked; ‘but that can soon be remedied. These peasant children are hardy little things when they have half a chance.’ He looked down at the boy, who was watching their faces with wide-open, excited eyes, half frightened at the strange language. ‘You mustn’t be afraid, Gervasio,’ he reassured him in Italian. ‘The signorina is taking you home with her to Villa Vivalanti, where you won’t be whipped any more and will have all you want to eat. You must be a good boy and do everything she tells you.’ Gervasio’s eyes opened still wider. ‘Will the signorina give me chocolate?’ he asked. ‘He’s one of the children I gave chocolate to, and he remembers it!’ Marcia said delightedly. ‘I thought his face was familiar. Yes, Gervasio,’ she added in her very careful Italian. ‘I will give you chocolate if you always do what you are told, but not every day, because chocolate is not good for little boys. You must eat bread and meat and soup, and grow big and strong like—like Signor Siberti here.’ Sybert laughed and Marcia joined him. ‘I begin to appreciate Aunt Katherine’s anxiety for Gerald—do you suppose there is any danger of malaria at Villa Vivalanti?’