country that I know better than most, I was known as Niccolo Davelli. I was an analytical chemist and something of an engineer, and I did, well, a little political work among the country folk." He said all this with a very easy manner but with a very unpleasant smile. "Signor Davelli," I replied, speaking in Italian, "I am proud to thank you by name on behalf of myself and my friend, and I trust you will find no difficulty in giving the guidance we ask." "Surely not," he answered in the same language, "but you will stay here for a little, will you not? I have some curious things to show you, and you may perhaps meet some old friends among my people, and my work is so interesting and important that I have some hope that you will see your way to cast in your lot with us altogether. But," said he, "you need not use Italian, for I am not any more skilful in that than in your own equally famous tongue." Here again was the unpleasant smile, and I noticed that although he spoke Italian, as far as I could judge quite perfectly, he used this language as well as English with the deliberate and measured enunciation of a foreigner.
"As you will," I replied, returning to English, "we shall be glad to see what you have to show us."
Signor Davelli rose up at the word and invited us to
