hat charitable man, had conceived no
suspicions with regard to me; her behaviour and mine in public was
marked with indifference, so well sustained that it suggested nothing to
arouse a doubt about us. He was furiously jealous, however, and had some
inklings that a certain young man, who inhabited the next house, might
crawl along the roof at night like a cat, and get in by the window, if
his adopted daughter left it open. His working jealousy suggested the
following device. How it was executed, I do not know. But he secretly
attached a thick log to the dormer window by a slender cord, in such a
way that it was impossible to open the window without snapping the
twine, and letting the log fall headlong down the ladder with a fearful
crash. This trap was meant to act as an alarm to the paternal guardian.
One night while I was sweetly sleeping, an infernal uproar, as of
something tumbling down the wooden stairs which ran along the boarding
at my pillow's head, woke me up with an awful fright. I thought my
sweetheart must have fallen, but it was only the log which went heavily
lumbering down.

I jumped out of bed in my shirt, caught up a light, and sallied forth to
give assistance to the wretched girl. While I was opening my door, I
spied the putative father in his shirt with a light in one hand and a
long naked scimitar clenched in the other, running like mad and rushing
up the stairs to execute summary vengeance. His wife in her shirt
hurried after, shrieking to make him stop. Massimo in his shirt, with a
light, and with his brandished sword, issued at the same time from his
bedroom, judging by the din that thieves were in the house. The husband
ran upstairs, swearing. The wife followed, howling. I followed the wife,
in dumb bewilderment. Massimo followed me, shouting: "Who is it? What is
it? Make room for me! Leave me to do the business!" The scene was quite
dramatic. The dormer window stood wide open. The girl in her smock had
fallen, huddled together, terrified, and trembling, just beneath it. Her
crime was manifest. We had much ado, all three of us, to curb the rage
of the so-called putative father, who had now become an Orlando Furioso,
and was bent on cutting the throat of his adopted daughter. The row was
terrible. During the long examinations which ensued, and in which,
thanks to Heaven, no mention was made of me, it came out that this
modest little damsel was very far from being the Santa Rosa that she
seemed.