on to a pretty woman."

This was the assertion with which Celio Benvoglio, private secretary of
her Highness, Princess Pauline Bonaparte Borghese, invariably prefaced
the following story, and had I a like knack in telling it, you would
admit the demonstration of that proposition. By dragon you will
understand that his Excellency, Prince Camillo Borghese, signified a
guardian and protector. To constitute Celio Malespini a spy and reporter
was no more in the thought of the Prince than it could have been in
Celio's performance. He was young, and as chivalric an admirer of the
Princess as he was loyal in his devotion to her husband. Had he
discovered anything equivocal in her conduct, wild horses could not have
torn her secret from him, and it is possible that the Prince counted
upon this when he said:

"Celio, the Princess is very young and impulsive; that she is a
foreigner and therefore inexperienced in our strict etiquette will not
excuse her slightest mistake in the eyes of our severe Roman dames, who
would be prejudiced against the sister of Napoleon were she as
circumspect as the Madonna. Her beauty has already made them envious,
her wit and light-heartedness is considered levity. They will delight in
wagging their tongues maliciously on the least shadow of suspicion. In
appointing you secretary to the Princess I place you in a position where
you will be able to guard her from the appearance of evil. Understand
well that I have no fear of its reality, but where there are windows
overlooking one's garden the neighbours may see more than the owner,
more even than actually occurs."

"Have no fear, my lord," the young secretary rashly promised. "You know
the Tuscan proverb in regard to avoiding the suspicion of fruit
stealing. Ah, well, no visitor shall be allowed to tie his shoestrings
among your strawberries or to use his handkerchief under your plum
tree."

So the Prince went away to Florence and Celio found that he had more
than he had bargained for. Not that Pauline Bonaparte committed actual
indiscretions; but she was wild for admiration, loved dress, and knew
how to dress well, setting off her marvellous beauty with that
combination of style and taste that the French call _chic_, which the
heavier intellects of the Roman modistes with all their pretence to
fashion can never attain, and which the imperious Roman matrons could
never forgive.

One of these, hoping to rob this audacious rival of the advantage of