they are not aware of that, and their
intention being quite different there is no insult at all in the matter.
I promise you no one will tell you to your face that you cheated, but how
are you going to prevent them thinking so?"

"Well, let them think what they like, but let them take care not to tell
me their thoughts."

I went home angry with Grimaldi, Rinaldi, and everyone else. My anger
vexed me, I should properly have only laughed, for in the state of morals
at Genoa, the accusation, whether true or false, could not injure my
honour. On the contrary I gained by it a reputation for being a genius, a
term which the Genoese prefer to that Methodistical word, "a rogue,"
though the meaning is the same. Finally I was astonished to find myself
reflecting that I should have had no scruple in breaking the bank in the
way suggested, if it had only been for the sake of making the company
laugh. What vexed me most was that I was credited with an exploit I had
not performed.

When dinner-time drew near I endeavoured to overcome my ill temper for
the sake of the company I was going to receive. My niece was adorned only
with her native charms, for the rascal Croce had sold all her jewels; but
she was elegantly dressed, and her beautiful hair was more precious than
a crown of rubies.

Rosalie came in richly dressed and looking very lovely. Her husband, her
uncle, and her aunt were with her, and also two friends, one of whom was
the aspirant for the hand of my niece.

Madame Isola-Bella and her shadow, M. Grimaldi, came late, like great
people. Just as we were going to sit down, Clairmont told me that a man
wanted to speak to me.

"Shew him in."

As soon as he appeared M. Grimaldi exclaimed:

"The man with the bag!"

"What do you want?" I said, dryly.

"Sir, I am come to ask you to help me. I am a family man, and it is
thought that . . ."

I did not let him finish.

"I have never refused to aid the unfortunate," said I. "Clairmont, give
him ten sequins. Leave the room."

This incident spoke in my favour, and made me in a better temper.

We sat down to table, and a letter was handed to me. I recognized
Possano's writing, and put it in my pocket without reading it.

The dinner was delicious, and my cook was pronounced to have won his
spurs. Though her exalted rank and the brilliance of her attire gave
Signora Isoia-Bella the first place of right, she was nevertheless
eclipsed by my two nieces. The young Genoese w