The Italian strode up and down the room, clenching his fist, and
talking rapidly. "To think of that Rosabella!" exclaimed he,--"a
girl that would grace any throne in Europe! To think of _her_ on the
auction-stand, with a crowd of low-bred rascals staring at her, and
rich libertines, like that Mr. Bruteman--Pah! I can't endure to think
of it. How like a satyr he looked while he was talking to me about
their being slaves. It seems he got sight of them when they took an
inventory of the furniture. And that handsome little witch, Floracita,
whom her father loved so tenderly, to think of her being bid off to
some such filthy wretch! But they sha'n't have 'em! They sha'n't have
'em! I swear I'll shoot any man that comes to take 'em." He wiped the
perspiration from his forehead, and rushed round like a tiger in a
cage.

"My friend," replied Madame, "they have the law on their side; and if
you try to resist, you will get yourself into trouble without doing
the girls any good. I'll tell you what we must do. We must disguise
them, and send them to the North."

"Send them to the North!" exclaimed the Italian. "Why, they'd no more
know how to get there than a couple of kittens."

"Then I must go with them," replied Madame; "and they must be got out
of this house before another day; for now that we know of it, we shall
be watched."

The impetuous Italian shook her hand cordially. "You have a brave
heart, Madame," said he. "I should rather march up to the cannon's
mouth than tell them such news as this."