oom and wretchedness? Not that I
complain of this life of mine!' cried he suddenly.

'Tell us about it, boy; it must present strange scenes and events,' said
the Count, and, taking Gerald's arm, he pressed him to a seat beside
him. The Duchess, too, bent on him one of her kindest smiles, so that he
felt encouraged in a moment.

And now Gerald talked away, as only the young can talk about themselves
and their fortunes. Their happy gift it is to have a softly tempered
tint over even their egotism, making it often not ungraceful. He
sketched a picturesque description of the stroller's life: its freedom
compensating for the hardships; its careless ease recompensing many a
passing mishap; the strange blending of study with little quaint and
commonplace preparation; the mind now charged with bright fancies, now
busy in all the intricacies of costume; the ever-watchful attention to
the taste of that strange public that formed their patron, and who, not
unfrequently wearying of Tasso and Guarini, called loudly for Punch and
his ribaldries. The boy's account of the Babbo and Donna Gaetana was not
devoid of humour, and he painted cleverly the simple old devotee
giving every spare hour he could snatch to penances for the life he was
leading; while the Donna took the world by storm, and started each
day to the combat, like a soldier mounting a breach. Lastly he came to
Marietta, and then his voice changed, his cheek grew red and white by
turns, and his chest heaved full and short, like one oppressed. He did
not mark the looks of intelligence that passed between the Duchess
and the Count: he never saw how each turned to listen to him with the
self-same expression on their features; he was too full of his theme to
note these things, and yet he could not dilate upon it as he had about
Babbo and the Donna.

'I saw her,' said the Count, as Gerald came to a pause. 'I noticed her
at the court, and she was, indeed, very handsome. Something Egyptian in
the cast of features.'

'But not a gypsy!' broke in the boy quickly.

'No, perhaps not. The eyes and brow resembled the Moorish race--the same
character of fixity in expression. Eyes, that carry--

"'I tesori d'amore e i suoi nasconde."'

There was a sly malice in the way the Count led the boy on, opening the
path, as it were, to his enthusiasm, and so artfully, that Gerald never
suspected it.

No longer restrained by fear or chilled by shame, he launched out into
praises of her bea