e moment,
"let us know our names and station. I am Giovanni Rossini, son of the
famous goldsmith of Florence; you, Giulietta, my sister. We came to
Paris in the legate's train, trade being dull at home, the gentry having
fled to the hills for the hot month. Of course you've never set foot out
of France, Fe--Giulietta?"

"Never out of St. Quentin till I came hither. But Father Francesco has
talked to me much of his city of Florence."

"Good; you can then make shift to answer a question or two if put to it.
Your Italian, I swear, is of excellent quality. You speak French like
the Picard you are, but Italian like a gentleman--that is to say, like a
lady."

"Monsieur," I bemoaned miserably, "I shall never come through it alive,
never in the world. They will know me in the flick of an eye for a boy;
I know they will. Why, the folk we are passing can see something wrong;
they all are staring at me."

"Of course they stare," he answered tranquilly. "I should think some
wrong if they did not. Can your modesty never understand, my Giulietta,
what a pretty lass you are?"

He fell to laughing at my discomfort, and thus, he full of gay
confidence, I full of misgiving, we came before the doors of the Hotel
de Lorraine.

"Courage," he whispered to me. "Courage will conquer the devil himself.
Put a good face on it and take the plunge." The next moment he was in
the archway, deluging the sentry with his rapid Italian.

"Nom d'un chien! What's all this? What are you after?" the man shouted
at us, to make us understand the better. "Haven't you a word of honest
French in your head?"

M. Etienne, tapping his box, very brokenly, very laboriously stammered
forth something about jewels for the ladies.

"Get in with you, then."

We were not slow to obey.

The courtyard was deserted, nor did we see any one in the windows of the
house, against which the afternoon sun struck hotly. To keep out his
unwelcome rays, the house door was pushed almost shut. We paused a
moment on the step, to listen to the voices of gossiping lackeys within,
and then M. Etienne boldly knocked.

There was a scurrying in the hall, as if half a dozen idlers were
plunging into their doublets and running to their places. Then my good
friend Pierre opened the door. In the row of underlings at his back I
recognized the two who had taken part in my flogging. The cold sweat
broke out upon me lest they in their turn should know me.

M. Etienne looked from one to