"We agreed on a ransom of a million and a half francs, five hundred thousand francs each!" "The lady's beauty has changed all that," said the Frenchman.

"I am going to marry her." "No, no: it's me; it's me," said the Italian.
"Have done with this foolish talk!" roared the Scotchman, banging the table.

"If either of you marries her, the poor young thing will be a widow in a fortnight.

I know Septimus Rainer; he'll shoot such a son-in-law at sight!" "Shoot me! Shoot me! This American mushroom shoot a Monteleone for marrying his daughter!" cried the Italian.

"Why, the Monteleones were Crusaders! He'll be proud of the alliance!" "Very proud--very proud he'll be will Septimus Rainer--when he's shot ye," jeered the Scotchman.
A movement overhead drew Tinker's attention; he looked up, to see Dorothy leaning out of the window above.