as well."

San Miniato bit his lip, for he was not pleased. Her answer augured ill
for the success of the plan he meant to put into execution that very
evening. He felt strongly incensed against Ruggiero, too, without in the
least understanding the reason.

"You will find out some day, Donna Beatrice, that those who are most in
earnest are not those who make the most passionate speeches."

"Ah! Is that true? How strange! I should have supposed that if a man
said nothing it was because he had nothing to say. But you have such
novel theories!"

"Is this discussion never to end?" asked the Marchesa, wearily lifting
her hand as though in protest, and letting it fall again beside the
other.

"It has only just begun, mamma," answered Beatrice cheerfully. "When San
Miniato jumps into the sea and drowns himself in despair, you will know
that the discussion is over."

"Beatrice! My child! What language!"

"Italian, mamma carissima. Italian with a little Sicilian, such as we
speak."

"I am at your service, Donna Beatrice," said the Count. "Would you like
me to drown myself immediately, or are you inclined for a little more
conversation?"

Ruggiero had now taken the helm altogether. As San Miniato spoke he
nodded to his brother who was forward, intimating that he meant to go
about. He was certainly not in his normal frame of mind, for he had an
evil thought at that moment. Fortunately for every one concerned the
breeze was very light and was indeed dying away as the sun sank lower.
They were already nearing the southernmost point of Capri, commonly
called by sailors the Monaco, for what reason no one knows. To reach
Tragara where the Faraglioni, or needles, rise out of the deep sea close
to the rocky shore under the cliffs, it is necessary to go round the
point. There was soon hardly any breeze at all, so that Bastianello and
the other men shipped half-a-dozen oars and began to row. The operation
of going about involved a change of places in so small a boat and the
slight confusion had interrupted the conversation. A long silence
followed, broken at last by the Marchesa's voice.

"A cigarette, Teresina, and some more lemonade. Are you still there, San
Miniato carissimo? As I heard no more conversation I supposed you had
drowned yourself as you proposed to do."

"Donna Beatrice is so kind as to put off the execution until after
dinner."

"And shall we ever reach this dreadful place, and ever really dine?"
asked th