emained cold,
and my insensibility cost me nothing; for I neither loved nor wished to.
A strange event, however, changed my plans. It was an evening of last
autumn, and the air was as sultry as possible. Exhausted by the heat of
the theatre, after the performance was over I sent my carriage home, and
resolved, in company with my _confidante_, to return on foot. I avoided
my many suitors, and escaped from the theatre by a back-door. The air
was so pure, and the night so beautiful, that I walked for some time on
the _chiaja_. It was late when I returned homeward. Crossing an isolated
street, which I had taken to shorten the walk, my _confidante_ and
myself were unexpectedly attacked by a party of men who stood beneath
the portico of a palace. They had well-nigh stifled our cries with
scarfs, which had been thrown over our heads, and we should possibly
have been murdered, when a man, rushing sword in hand, I know not
whence, attacked our aggressors, disarmed three of them, whom he put to
flight, and killed the fourth by a dagger-thrust. Rapidly as possible,
he then took off the bandages from our faces, and gave me, half dead
with terror, his arm.

"A carriage passed, the stranger called to it, placed us in it, and
said: 'A lady, signora, of your appearance, met in the streets of Naples
at such an hour, doubtless is under the influence of some secret motive
she would be unwilling to expose. My services to you have been too
slight to warrant my questioning you. Now you have nothing to fear, and
this carriage will take you any where you please. I will inquire into no
orders which you may give.' 'But your name, signore?' said I. 'Count
Monte-Leone,' said he, as he disappeared."

"That is true," said the Count. "I never knew, though, whom I had
rescued from the hands of bandits."

He then began again to read:

"From that time the Count was, in spite of myself, the object of my
constant thoughts and secret meditations. I was very anxious, at least,
to know the features of the man, whom I had only seen in the dark; for
the services he had rendered me, the courage he had displayed, even the
sound of his voice, spoke both to my head and heart. One day, as I was
crossing the street of Toledo, some young persons pointed out to me a
cavalier, mounted on a noble horse. 'No one but Monte-Leone can ride
such an animal as that. No one else rides so well.' 'He is the
handsomest and most brilliant of our young nobles,' said another. 'Wh