"Why put it off so long?"

"To allow our young gentleman time to cool
down and return to the studio, to be sure.
"What was the use of my being there while
he was away?"

"Yes, yes—I forgot. And how long was it
before he came back?"

"I had allowed him more time than enough.
When I had given my first sitting, I saw him
in the studio, and heard it was his second
visit there since the day of the girl's
disappearance. Those very violent men are always
changeable and irresolute."

"Had he made no attempt, then, to
discover Nanina ?"

"Oh, yes! He had searched for her
himself, and had set others searching for her, but
to no purpose. Four days of perpetual
disappointment had been enough to bring him
to his senses. Luca Lonii had written him a
peace-making letter, asking him what harm
he or his daughter had done, even supposing
Father Rocco was to blame. Maddalena
Lomi had met him in the street, and had
looked resignedly away from him, as if she
expected him to pass her. In short, they had
awakened his sense of justice and his good-
nature (you see I can impartially give him
his due); and they had got him back. He
was silent and sentimental enough at first,
and shockingly sulky and savage with the
priest——"

"I wonder Father Rocco ventured within
his reach."

"Father Rocco is not a man to be daunted
or defeated by anybody, I can tell you. The
same day on which Fabio came back to the
studio, he returned to it. Beyond boldly
declaring that he thought Nanina had done
quite right, and had acted like a good and
virtuous girl, he would say nothing about her
or her disappearance. It was quite useless
to ask him questions—he denied that any one
had a right to put them. Threatening,
entreating, flattering—all modes of appeal were
thrown away on him. Ah, my dear! depend
upon it, the cleverest and politest man in Pisa,
the most dangerous to an enemy and the
most delightful to a friend, is Father Rocco.
The rest of them, when I began to play my
cards a little too openly, behaved with brutal
rudeness to me. Father Eocco from first to
last treated me like a lady. Sincere or not, I
don't care he treated me like a lady when
the others treated me like—"

"There! there! don't get hot about it
now. Tell me, instead, how you made your
first approaches to the young gentleman
whom you talk of so contemptuously as
Fabio."

"As it turned out, in the worst possible
way. First, of course, I made sure of
interesting him in me by telling him that I had
known Nanina. So far, it was all well
enough. My next object was to persuade
him that she could never have gone away if
she had truly loved him alone; and that he
must have had some fortunate rival in her
own rank of life, to whom she had sacrificed
him, after gratifying her vanity for a time by
bringing a young nobleman to her feet. I
had, as you will easily imagine, difficulty
enough in making him take this view of
Nanina's flight. His pride and his love for
the girl were both concerned in refusing to
admit the truth of my suggestion. At last I
succeeded. I brought him to that state of
ruffled vanity and fretful self-assertion in
which it is easiest to work on a man's feelings,
—in which a man's own wounded pride
makes the best pitfall to catch him in. I
brought him, I say, to that state, and then
—she stepped in, and profited by what I had
done. Is it wonderful now that I rejoice in
her disappointments; that I should be glad
to hear any ill thing of her that any one
could tell me?"

"But how did she first get the advantage
of you?"

"If I had found out, she would never have
succeeded where I failed. All I know is that
she had more opportunities of seeing him
than I, and that she used them cunningly
enough even to deceive me. While I thought
I was gaining ground with Fabio, I was
actually losing it. My first suspicions were
excited by a change in Luca Lomi's conduct
towards me. He grew cold, neglectful—at
last absolutely rude. I was resolved not to
see this; but accident soon obliged me to
open my eyes. One morning I heard Fabio
and Maddalena talking of me when they
imagined that I had left the studio. I can't
repeat their words, especially hers. The
blood flies into my head, and the cold catches
me at the heart, when I only think of them.
It will be enough if I tell you that he laughed
at me, and that she——"

"Hush! not so loud. There are other
people lodging in the house. Never mind
about telling me what you heard; it only
irritates you to no purpose. I can guess that
they had discovered——"

"Through her, remember—all through
her!"

"Yes, yes, I understand. They had
discovered a great deal more than you ever
intended them to know, and all through
her."

"But for the priest, Virginie, I should have
been openly insulted and driven from their
doors. He had insisted on their behaving
with decent civility towards me. They said
that he was afraid of me, and laughed at the
notion of his trying to make them afraid too.
That was the last thing I heard. The fury I
was in, and the necessity of keeping it down,
almost suffocated me. I turned round, to
leave the place for ever, when who should I
see, standing close behind me, but Father
Rocco. He must have discovered in my face
that I knew all; but he took no notice of it.
He only asked, in his usual quiet, polite way,
if I was looking for anything I had lost, and