"Whoever told your
father that, told him an untruth. The Queen fled from Porto Vecchio
in that same winter of 'thirty-nine, a few days before Christmas.
I myself steered the boat that carried her."
"To be sure," said I, "my father may have had his information from
King Theodore."
"The good sisters of the convent," continued Marc'antonio, "received
the Queen and did all that was necessary for her. But among them
must have been one who loved the Genoese or their gold: for when the
children were but ten days old they vanished, having been stolen and
handed secretly to the Genoese--yes, cavalier, out of the Queen's own
sleeping-chamber. Little doubt had we they were dead--for why should
their enemies spare them? And never should we have recovered trace
of them but for the Father Domenico, who knew what had become of them
(having learnt it, no doubt, among the sisters' confessions, to
receive which he visited the convent) and that they were alive and
unharmed; but he kept the secret, for his oath's sake, or else
waiting for the time to ripen."
"Then King Theodore may also have believed them dead," I suggested.
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