me in late for a
nobleman's dinner.

Still dissembling my ill humour, I got into his carriage to accompany him
on his round of visits. He took me to Baron del Mestre, who spent the
whole of the year in the country with his family, keeping up a good
establishment.

The count spent the whole of the day with the baron, putting off the
other visits to a future time. In the evening we returned to Spessa. Soon
after we arrived the priest returned the money I had given him for the
candles, telling me that the count had forgotten to inform him that I was
to be treated as himself.

I took this acknowledgement for what it was worth.

Supper was served, and I ate with the appetite of four, while the count
hardly ate at all.

The servant who escorted me to my room asked me at what time I should
like breakfast. I told him, and he was punctual; and this time the coffee
was brought in the coffee-pot and the sugar in the sugar basin.

The valet did my hair, and the maid did my room, everything was changed,
and I imagined that I had given the count a little lesson, and that I
should have no more trouble with him. Here, however, I was mistaken, as
the reader will discover.

Three or four days later the priest came to me one morning, to ask when I
would like dinner, as I was to dine in my room.

"Why so?" I asked.

"Because the count left yesterday for Gorice, telling me he did not know
when he should come back. He ordered me to give you your meals in your
room."

"Very good. I will dine at one."

No one could be more in favour of liberty and independence than myself,
but I could not help feeling that my rough host should have told me he
was going to Gorice. He stayed a week, and I should have died of
weariness if it had not been for my daily visits to the Baron del Mestre.
Otherwise there was no company, the priest was an uneducated man, and
there were no pretty country girls. I felt as if I could not bear another
four weeks of such a doleful exile.

When the count came back, I spoke to him plainly.

"I came to Spessa," I said, "to keep you company and to amuse myself; but
I see that I am in the way, so I hope you will take me back to Gorice and
leave me there. You must know that I like society as much as you do, and
I do not feel inclined to die of solitary weariness in your house."

He assured me that it should not happen again, that he had gone to Gorice
to meet an actress, who had come there purposely to see him, an