g my name, or my character, or anything about me, he delivered you
over to my tender mercies. A man of any delicacy would never abandon his
loved one thus."

"He is not jealous. You know Frenchmen are not."

"A man of honour is the same in France, and England, and Italy, and all
the world over. If he loved you, would he have left you penniless in this
fashion? What would you do, if I were inclined to play the brutal lover?
You may speak freely."

"I should defend myself."

"Very good; then I should abandon you here, and what would you do then?
You are pretty, you are a woman of sensibility, but many men would take
but little account of your virtue. Your lover has left you to me; for all
he knew I might be the vilest wretch; but as it is, cheer up, you have
nothing to fear.

"How can you think that adventurer loves you? He is a mere monster. I am
sorry that what I say makes you weep, but it must be said. I even dare
tell you that I have taken a great liking to you; but you may feel quite
sure that I shall not ask you to give me so much as a kiss, and I will
never abandon you. Before we get to Rome I shall convince you that the
count, as he calls himself, not only does not love you, but is a common
swindler as well as a deceiver."

"You will convince me of that?"

"Yes, on my word of honour! Dry your eyes, and let us try to make this
day pass as pleasantly as yesterday. You cannot imagine how glad I feel
that chance has constituted me your protector. I want you to feel assured
of my friendship, and if you do not give me a little love in return, I
will try and bear it patiently."

The landlord came in and brought the bill for the count and his mistress
as well as for myself. I had expected this, and paid it without a word,
and without looking at the poor wandering sheep beside me. I recollected
that too strong medicines kill, and do not cure, and I was afraid I had
said almost too much.

I longed to know her history, and felt sure I should hear it before we
reached Rome. We took some coffee and departed, and not a word passed
between us till we got to the inn at La Scala, where we got down.

The road from La Scala to Radicofani is steep and troublesome. The
vetturino would require an extra horse, and even then would have taken
four hours. I decided, therefore, to take two post horses, and not to
begin the journey till ten o'clock.

"Would it not be better to go on now?" said the English girl; "it will be
very