large building.
It was richly and tastefully furnished, and was surrounded by an enormous
garden.

The first thing that struck me was the number of the lackeys and the
richness of their liveries, and the maids in elegant attire, who seemed
to be going and coming in all directions.

As I advanced I heard an imperious voice scolding some one.

The scold was Nina, who was abusing an astonished-looking man, who was
standing by a large table covered with stuffs and laces.

"Excuse me," said she, "but this fool of a Spaniard wants to persuade me
that this lace is really handsome."

She asked me what I thought of the lace, and though I privately thought
it lace of the finest quality, I did not care to contradict her, and so
replied that I was no judge.

"Madam," said the tradesman, "if you do not like the lace, leave it; will
you keep the stuffs?"

"Yes," she replied; "and as for the lace, I will shew you that it is not
the money that deters me."

So saying the mad girl took up a pair of scissors and cut the lace into
fragments.

"What a pity!" said the man who had spoken to me at the bull fight.
"People will say that you have gone off your head."

"Be silent, you pimping rogue!" said she, enforcing her words with a
sturdy box on the ear.

The fellow went off, calling her strumpet, which only made her scream
with laughter; then, turning to the Spaniard, she told him to make out
his account directly.

The man did not want telling twice, and avenged himself for the abuse he
had received by the inordinate length of his bill.

She took up the account and placed her initials at the bottom without
deigning to look at the items, and said,--

"Go to Don Diego Valencia; he will pay you immediately."

As soon as we were alone the chocolate was served, and she sent a message
to the fellow whose ears she had boxed to come to breakfast directly.

"You needn't be surprised at my way of treating him," she said. "He's a
rascal whom Ricla has placed in my house to spy out my actions, and I
treat him as you have seen, so that he may have plenty of news to write
to his master."

I thought I must be dreaming; such a woman seemed to me beyond the limits
of the possible.

The poor wretch, who came from Bologna and was a musician by profession,
came and sat down with us without a word. His name was Molinari.

As soon as he had finished his breakfast he left the room, and Nina spent
an hour with me talking about Spain, Italy,