st be stopped at once. For he
was a married man, and his good lady still lived, with a very
large family, most of the members of which had grown up.

_La Cica_ ought to know this. She ought indeed. But let the
knowledge be given delicately, not abruptly. He confided his
little difficulty to his friend the Minister. The Minister only
laughed heartily.

"But give me your opinion."

The Minister held his sides, and laughed more immoderately than ever.

"It's no laughing matter," said the Senator. "It's serious. I think
you might give an opinion."

But the Minister declined. A broad grin wreathed his face during
all the remainder of his stay at Florence. In fact, it is said that
it has remained there ever since.

The Senator felt indignant, but his course was taken. On the
following evening they walked on the balcony of _La Cica_'s noble
residence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming.

The conversation of a fascinating woman does not look so well when
reported as it is when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her
glance, her manner. Who can catch the evanescent beauty of her
expression or the deep tenderness of her well-modulated voice? Who
indeed?

"Does ze scene please you, my Senator?"

"Very much indeed."

"Youar countrymen haf tol me zey would like to stay here alloway."

"It is a beautiful place."

"Did you aiver see any thin moaire loafely?" And the Countess looked
full in his face.

"Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant he blushed.
He had been betrayed into a compliment.

The Countess sighed.

"Helas! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to moartals to
sociate as zey would laike."

"'Your Senator,'" thought the gentleman thus addressed; "how fond,
how tender--poor thing! poor thing!"

"I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he.

"How I adamiar youar style of mind, so differente from ze
Italiana. You are so strong--so nobile. Yet would Maike to see
moar of ze poetic in you."

"I always loved poetry, marm," said the Senator, desperately.

"Ah--good--nais--eccelente. I am plees at zat," cried the Countess,
with much animation. "You would loafe it moar eef you knew Italiano.
Your langua ees not sufficiente musicale for poatry."

"It is not so soft a language as the _I_-talian."

"Ah--no--not so soft. Very well. And what theenka you of ze
Italiano?"

"The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days."

"Ah, now--you hev not heard much of ze Italiano,