h light curly hair, a
fine red beard of his own; but his real name was Domenico Serone. He
paid his court to Erminia in such a way that nothing else was talked
of, went on like one distracted, while she dismissed him just as she
had done the rest of us, without positive disdain. She only gave him to
understand that he might spare himself any further trouble, that she
could not marry him, for a good girl like her would not awaken any
false hopes. Many thought that her own country-people were not
distinguished enough for her, that it must be some foreigner, a milord,
or a Russian, and that her mind was set on distant lands and fabulous
adventures. But no, sir, that too was a bad shot. I myself knew a rich
English count, or marquis, or whatever he might be, who told me that he
had thrown a couple of thousand pounds or so into her apron, and
implored her on his knees to accompany him to England. But she just
shook off the bank-notes as though they had been dead leaves, and
threatened if he ever spoke another word to her, to strike him across
the face, even if it were on the public market-place. And so we went
on exhausting ourselves in conjectures as to what her motives could
be; whether she had made a vow to die unmarried; and I even once
summoned up courage to ask her--such was the friendly footing we stood
on--whether she had a hatred to men in general. Not so, she quietly
replied, but as yet she had not found one whom she could love. In this
way two years passed, she still with the same calm face, Red-beard
looking more and more gloomy, and it was plain to see how consumed he
was by the fire within, for the handsome youth went creeping about like
a ghost.

"One day, however, a stranger came here, a Swedish captain, who had
left the service because his promotion had been unfairly delayed, and
who, since then, having means of his own, had travelled by land and by
sea half over the world, shooting elephants and tigers, crocodiles and
sea-serpents, and carrying about with him half-a-dozen most beautiful
guns and rifles, and a great Newfoundland dog, who had more than once
saved his life. If I remember rightly this stranger's name was _Sture_,
or something of the sort, but I myself called him Sor Gustavo, and the
village-folk just 'the Captain.' He took up his quarters here because
he liked my little garden, had the very room you now occupy, and he and
I were soon as thick as thieves. He was not a man of many words, nor
ind