Don Ippolito heaved a long, ineffectual sigh, and taking his linen
handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his forehead with it, and rolled it
upon his knee. He looked at the door, and all round the room, and then
rose and drew near the consul, who had officially seated himself at his
desk.

"I suppose that the Signor Console gives passports?" he asked.

"Sometimes," replied Mr. Ferris, with a clouding face.

Don Ippolito seemed to note the gathering distrust and to be helpless
against it. He continued hastily: "Could the Signor Console give a
passport for America ... to me?"

"Are you an American citizen?" demanded the consul in the voice of a
man whose suspicions are fully roused.

"American citizen?"

"Yes; subject of the American republic."

"No, surely; I have not that happiness. I am an Austrian subject,"
returned Don Ippolito a little bitterly, as if the last words were an
unpleasant morsel in the mouth.

"Then I can't give you a passport," said Mr. Ferris, somewhat more
gently. "You know," he explained, "that no government can give
passports to foreign subjects. That would be an unheard-of thing."