in our lodging in the Vicolo Balba. Still Gianetta
held us with her fatal wiles and her still more fatal beauty. At length
there came a day when I felt I could bear the horrible misery and
suspense of it no longer. The sun, I vowed, should not go down before I
knew my sentence. She must choose between us. She must either take me
or let me go. I was reckless. I was desperate. I was determined to
know the worst, or the best. If the worst, I would at once turn my back
upon Genoa, upon her, upon all the pursuits and purposes of my past life,
and begin the world anew. This I told her, passionately and sternly,
standing before her in the little parlour at the back of the shop, one
bleak December morning.

"If it's Mat whom you care for most," I said, "tell me so in one word,
and I will never trouble you again. He is better worth your love. I am
jealous and exacting; he is as trusting and unselfish as a woman. Speak,
Gianetta; am I to bid you good-bye for ever and ever, or am I to write
home to my mother in England, bidding her pray to God to bless the woman
who has promised to be my wife?"

"You plead your friend's cause well," she replied, haughtily. "Matteo
ought to be grateful. This is more than he ever did for you."

"Give me my answer, for pity's sake," I exclaimed, "and let me go!"

"You are free to go or stay, Signor Inglese," she replied. "I am not
your jailor."

"Do you bid me leave you?"

"Beata Madre! not I."

"Will you marry me, if I stay?"

She laughed aloud--such a merry, mocking, musical laugh, like a chime of
silver bells!

"You ask too much," she said.

"Only what you have led me to hope these five or six months past!"

"That is just what Matteo says. How tiresome you both are!"

"O, Gianetta," I said, passionately, "be serious for one moment! I am a
rough fellow, it is true--not half good enough or clever enough for you;
but I love you with my whole heart, and an Emperor could do no more."

"I am glad of it," she replied; "I do not want you to love me less."

"Then you cannot wish to make me wretched! Will you promise me?"

"I promise nothing," said she, with another burst of laughter; "except
that I will not marry Matteo!"

Except that she would not marry Matteo! Only that. Not a word of hope
for myself. Nothing but my friend's condemnation. I might get comfort,
and selfish triumph, and some sort of base assurance out of that, if I
could. And so, to my shame, I did