“Respect the Princess,” said one, holding back the Orsini.
“The guard will break open the doors,” said a second, restraining the Spaniard.
“To-morrow, Signors, to-morrow.”
“When you may fight with swords.”
“And not with knives like highwaymen.”
“Signors,” said the spy, Gubetta, now that his ruse for removing the women had succeeded. “Signors, I was wrong.”
“Truly; and to prove it, Orsini shall sing us his song.”
“Orsini will.”
“Wine, wine.”
“Truly, Signors, wine.” Thus Gubetta. “There, cup-bearer. My faith, Signors, this is Siracusa, the noblest drink. Let me pour for you.” And he took the tankard, no one wondering where the bearer of it sprung from. Nay, they took each a cup, and crowded round the Spanish spy, each calling laughingly for a share of the Siracusa.