s, a wine-cart was halting on its way to Rome, while the
rough carter went through the usual arrangement of exchanging some of
his employer's wine for food for himself, filling up the barrel with
good pure water that never hurt anyone. I wandered about, though I
could not expect to see any face that I knew; it is so many years
since I lived at Serveti that even were the carters from my old place
I should have forgotten how they looked. Suddenly, at the corner of a
dirty street, where there was a little blue and white shrine to the
Madonna, I stumbled against a burly fellow with a gray beard carrying
a bit of salt codfish in one hand and a cake of corn bread in the
other, eating as he went.

"Gigi!" I cried, in delight, when I recognised the old carrettiere who
used to bring me grapes and wine, and still does when the fancy takes
him.

"Dio mio! Signor Conte!" he cried, with his mouth full, and holding
up the bread and fish with his two hands, in astonishment. When he
recovered himself he instantly offered to share his meal with me, as
the poorest wretch in Italy will offer his crust to the greatest
prince, out of politeness. "Vuol favorire?" he said, smiling.

I thanked him and declined, as you may imagine. Then I asked him how
he came to be in Palestrina; and he told me that he was often there in
the winter, as his sister had married a vine-dresser of the place,
of whom he bought wine occasionally. Very well-to-do people, he
explained, eagerly, proud of his prosperous relations.

We clambered along through the rough street together, and I asked him
what was the news from Serveti and from that part of the country,
well knowing that if he had heard of any rich foreigners in that
neighbourhood he would at once tell me of it. But I had not much hope.
He talked about the prospects of the vines, and such things, for some
time, and I listened patiently.

"By the by," he said at last, "there is a gran signore who is gone
to live in Fillettino,--a crazy man, they say, with a beautiful
daughter, but really beautiful, as an angel."

I was so much surprised that I made a loud exclamation.

"What is the matter?" asked Gigi.

"It is nothing, Gigi," I answered, for I was afraid lest he should
betray my secret, if I let him guess it. "It is nothing. I struck my
foot against a stone. But you were telling about a foreigner who is
gone to live somewhere. Fillettino? Where is that?"

"Oh, the place of the diavolo! I do not wond