"It is the saucy way she has gotten, your
excellency, all from over-flattery; and now that
she sees there is no audience here, none but
your excellency, she is impatient to be off again.
She'll never do anything for us on the night of
a thin house."

"Is this the truth, Tintefleck?" asked I.

With a wild volubility, of which I could not
gather a word, but every accent of which
indicated passion, if not anger, she poured out
something to the other, and then turned as if
to leave the room. He interposed quickly, and
spoke to her, at first angrily, but at last in a
soothing and entreating tone, which seemed
gradually to calm her.

"There is more in this than you have told,
Vaterchen," said I. "Let me know at once why
she is impatient  to get away."

"I would leave it to herself to tell your excellency,"
said he, with much confusion, "but
that you could not understand her mountain
dialect. The fact is," added he, after a great
struggle with himself—"the fact is, she is
offended at your calling her 'Tintefleck.' She is
satisfied to be so named amongst ourselves,
where we all have similar nicknames; but that
you, a great personage, high, and rich, and
titled, should do so, wounds her deeply. Had
you said—-"

Here he whispered me in my ear, and almost
inadvertently I repeated after him "Catinka."

"Si, si, Catinka," said she, while her eyes
sparkled with an expression of wildest delight,
and at the same instant she bounded forward
and kissed my hand twice over.

I was glad to have made my peace, and
placing a chair for her at the table, I filled out
a glass of wine and presented it. She only
shook her head in dissent, and pushed it away.

"She has odd ways in everything," said the
old man; "she never eats but bread and water.
It is her notion, that if she were to taste other
food she'd lose her gift of fortune-telling."

"So, then, she reads destiny, too?" said I, in
astonishment.

Before I could inquire further, she swept
her hands across the strings of her guitar,
and broke out into a little peasant song.
It was very monotonous, but pleasing. Of
course I knew nothing of the words nor the
meaning, but it seemed as though one thought
kept ever and anon recurring in the melody,
and would continue to rise to the surface, like
the air bubbles in a well. Satisfied apparently
by the evidences of my approval, she had no
sooner finished than she began another. This
was somewhat more pretentious, and, from what
I could gather, represented a parting scene between
a lover and his mistress. There was, at
least, a certain action in the song which intimated
this. The fervent earnestness of the
lover, his entreaties, his prayers, and at last
his threatenings, were all given with effect,
and there was actually good acting in the stolid
defiance she opposed to all; she rejected his
vows, refused his pledges, scorned his menaces;
but when he had gone and left her, when she
saw herself alone and desolate, then came out a
gush of the most passionate sorrow, all the pent-
up misery of a heart that seemed to burst with
its weight of agony.

If I was in a measure entranced while she was
singing, such was the tension of my nerves as I
listened, that I was heartily glad when it was
over. As for her, she seemed so overcome by
the emotion she had parodied, that she bent her
head down, covered her face with her hands,
and sobbed twice or thrice convulsively.

I turned towards Vaterchen to ask him some
question, I forget what, but the little fellow had
made such good use of the decanter beside him
while the music went on, that his cheeks were a
bright crimson, and his little round eyes shone
like coals of fire.

"This young creature should never have
fallen amongst such as you!" said I, indignantly;
"she has feeling and tenderness—the
powers of expression she wields all evidence a
great and gifted nature. She has, so to say,
noble qualities."

"Noble, indeed!" croaked out the little
wretch, with a voice hoarse from the strong
Burgundy.

"She might, with proper culture, adorn a
very different sphere," said I, angrily. "Many
have climbed the ladder of life with humbler
pretensions."

"Ay, and stand on one leg on top of it, playing
the tambourine all the time," hiccuped he in
reply.

I did not fancy the way he carried out my
figure, but went on with my reflections:

"Some, but they are few, achieve greatness
at a bound—-"

"That's what she does," broke he in, " Twelve
hoops and a drum behind them, at one spring—
she comes through like a flying-fish."

I don't know what angry rejoinder was on
my lips to this speech, when there came a tap at
my door. I arose at once and opened it. It
was Francois, with a polite message from Mrs.
Keats, to say how happy it would make her " if
I felt well enough to join her and Miss Herbert
at tea." For a second or two I knew not what
to reply. That I was " well enough" Francois
was sure to report, and in my flushed condition
I was, perhaps, the picture of an exaggerated
state of convalescence; so, after a moment's
hesitation, I muttered out a blundering excuse,
on the plea of having a couple of friends with
me, "who had chanced to be just passing through
the town on their way to Italy."

I did not think Francois had time to report
my answer, when I heard him again at the door.
It was, with his mistress's compliments, to say,
she " would be charmed if I would induce my
friends to accompany me."

I had to hold my hand on my side with
laughter as I heard this message, so absurd was
the proposition, and so ridiculous seemed the
notion of it. This, I say, was the first impression
made upon my mind; and then, almost as
suddenly, there came another and very different
one. "What is the mission you have embraced,