Peter and the Duchessa were not altogether to be blamed, I
hope, if they exchanged the merest hint of a smile.

"Well, if I should give you fifty?" Peter asked.

"Fifty lire, Excellency?"

Peter nodded.

Still again the boy sought counsel of his sister, with his
eyes.

"Yes, Excellency," he said.

"You are sure you will be able to take care of it--you will not
let people rob you," the Duchessa put in, anxious. "They will
wish to rob you. If you go to sleep in the train, they will
try to pick your pocket."

"I will hide it, noble lady. No one shall rob me. If I go to
sleep in the train, I will sit on it, and my sister will watch.
If she goes to sleep, I will watch," the boy promised
confidently.

"You must give it to him in the smallest change you can
possibly scrape together," she advised Peter.

And with one-lira, two-lira, ten-lira notes, and with a little
silver and copper, he made up the amount.