"There are no police at Bellaggio," said Sophonisba.

"What on earth shall I do for money to go on with?" said Mr. Greene,
looking piteously up to the ceiling, and shaking both his hands.

And now the whole house was in an uproar, including not only the
landlord, his wife and daughters, and all the servants, but also every
other visitor at the hotel. Mrs. Greene was not a lady who hid either
her glories or her griefs under a bushel, and, though she spoke only
in English, she soon made her protestations sufficiently audible. She
protested loudly that she had been robbed, and that she had been
robbed since she left the steamer. The box had come on shore; of that
she was quite certain. If the landlord had any regard either for his
own character or for that of his house, he would ascertain before an
hour was over where it was, and who had been the thief. She would
give him an hour. And then she sat herself down; but in two minutes
she was up again, vociferating her wrongs as loudly as ever. All this
was filtered through me and Sophonisba to the waiter in French, and
from the waiter to the landlord; but the lady's gestures required no
translation to make them intelligible, and the state of her mind on
the matter was, I believe, perfectly well understood.

Mr. Greene I really did pity. His feelings of dismay seemed to be
quite as deep, but his sorrow and solicitude were repressed into more
decorum. "What am I to do for money?" he said. "I have not a
shilling to go on with!" And he still looked up at the ceiling.

"You must send to England," said Sophonisba.