y's solicitors are doing what they can for him, to please me;
but I can see they consider it all _peines perdues_ for a rogue who
ought to be hanged. "And to think," cries Toniello, "that in my own
country I should have all the _populo_ with me! The very carabineers
themselves would have been with me! _Accidente a tutti quei grulli!_"
which means, "May apoplexy seize these fools!" "They were only the
women's husbands," he adds, with scorn: "they are well worth making a
fuss about, certainly!" Then Piero consoles him, and gives him
cigarettes, and is obliged to leave him sobbing and tearing his hair,
and lying face downward on his bed of sacking. I thought Piero would not
leave the poor fellow alone in prison, and so I supposed he would give
up all idea of going from here; and so I began to say to myself, "_A
quelque chose malheur est bon._" But to-day, at luncheon, Piero said,
"_Sai, carina!_ It was bad enough with Toniello, but without him, I tell
you frankly, I cannot stand any more of it. With Toniello, one could
laugh and forget a little. But now--_anima mia_, if you do not wish me
to kill somebody, and be lodged beside Toniello by your worthy
law-givers, you must really let me go to Trouville." "Alone!" I said;
and I believe it is what he did mean, only the horror in my voice
frightened him from confessing it. He sighed and got up. "I suppose I
shall never be alone any more," he said, impatiently. "If only men knew
what they do when they marry, _on ne nous prendrait jamais_. No, no. Of
course I meant that you must consent to come away with me somewhere out
of this intolerable place, which is made up of fog and green leaves. Let
us go to Paris, to begin with: there is not a soul there, and the
theatres are _en relache_; but it is always delightful, and then, in a
week or so, we will go down to Trouville: all the world is there." I
couldn't answer him for crying. Perhaps that was best, for I am sure I
should have said something wicked, which might have divided us forever.
And then what would people have thought?

* * * * *

_From the Lady Gwendolen Chichester, St. Petersburg, to the Princess di
San Zenone, Coombe-Bysset._

MY POOR LITTLE DEAR,--

Are you already beginning to be miserable about what people will think?
Then, indeed, your days of joy are numbered. If I were to write to you
fifty times, I could only repeat what I have always written. You are not
wise, and you are doing