"Is she pretty?"
"Extremely. But not like you. Very fair, with blue eyes."
"How long since you have seen her?"
"A year."
"And when are you to be married?"
"In November, probably, in Rome."
She covered me for a moment with a glance of the largest sympathy. "Ah, what happiness!" she cried abruptly.
"After our marriage," I said, "we shall go down to Naples. Do you know Naples?"
Instead of answering, she simply gazed at me, and her beautiful eyes seemed to grow larger and more liquid. Suddenly, while I sat in the benignant shadow of her vision, I saw the tears rise to her lids. Her face was convulsed and she burst into sobs. I remember that in my amazement and regret I suddenly lost my Italian. "Dearest lady," I cried in my mother tongue, "forgive me that I have troubled you. Share with me at least the sorrow that I have aroused." In an instant, however, she had brushed away her tears and her face had recovered its pale composure. She tried even to smile.
"What will you think of me?" she asked. "What do you think of me already?"
"I think you are an extremely interesting woman. You are in trouble. If there is anything I can do for you, pray say the word."
She gave me her hand. I was on the point of raising it to my lips. "No—à l'Anglaise," she said, and she lightly shook my own. "I like you—you're an honest man—you don't try to make love to me. I should like to write a note to your promessa sposa to tell her she may trust you. You can't help me. I have committed myself to God and the Holy Virgin. They will help me. Besides, it's only a little longer. Eh, it's a long story, Signore! What is said in your country of a woman who travels alone at night without even a servant?"
"Nothing is said. It's very common."
"Ah! women must be very happy there, or very un-
