Mansana's only answer was: "Have no fear, I know how to
take all that into consideration."

The Hungarian lived, as the Italians say, _primo piano_--that is, on
the second floor, in a large house in Fratina. The first-floor windows
of Italian town houses, are, as a rule, protected by iron bars.
Swinging himself up by these, Mansana, in less than a minute, was
standing on the balcony outside the Hungarian's room. Smashing one of
the panes of glass, he opened the window and disappeared within. The
striking of a light was the next thing visible to his companions below.
What happened next they were never able to discover; they heard no
further sound, and Mansana kept his own secret. All they knew was that
after a few minutes, Mansana and the Hungarian--the latter in his
shirt-sleeves--appeared upon the balcony; and the Hungarian, in
excellent French, acknowledged that he had taken more wine than was
good for him that evening, and apologised for what he had said;
undoubtedly, an Italian was as good as a Hungarian any day. Mansana
then descended the balcony in the same way as that by which he had gone
up.

Anecdotes of every possible variety were showered upon us--anecdotes
from the battlefield, the garrison, and society, including stories of
athletic feats testifying to powers of endurance in running such as I
have never heard equalled; but I think that those I have already
selected present a sufficiently vivid picture of a man in whom the
combination of presence of mind, courage, and high sense of honour,
with bodily strength, energy and general dexterity, was likely to
excite among his friends high expectations as to his future, even
whilst giving them some cause for grave anxiety.

How it came about that, during the following winter and spring,
Giuseppe Mansana engaged the attention of thousands of persons,
including that of the present writer, will appear in the course of our
story.

CHAPTER III

As Giuseppe Mansana followed his father's bones to their last
resting-place, looking, even on that sad and solemn occasion, as though
he would fain leap over the funeral-car, it was plain enough that he
was under the spell of his first burning dream of love. Later on, in
the course of that same evening, he took the train to Ancona, where his
regiment was quartered. There lived the woman he loved, and nothing but
the sight of her could assuage the fire of passion that flamed in his
hea