aunt, and I expect
they are talking about you."

We sat down to the enjoyment of a delicate and abundant meal. Agatha, I
could see, was happy, and delighted to shew me how happy she was. The old
Abbe Gama congratulated himself on having presented me. Don Pascal
Latilla could not be jealous of the attentions paid me by his idol, for I
was a stranger, and they were my due; while her husband prided himself on
his freedom from those vulgar prejudices to which so many Neapolitans are
subject.

In the midst of all this gaiety I could not help stealing many a furtive
glance towards Callimena. I addressed her again and again, and she
answered me politely but so briefly as to give me no opportunity of
displaying my powers in the way of persiflage.

I asked if her name was her family name or a pseudonym.

"It is my baptismal name."

"It is Greek; but, of course, you know what it means?"

"No."

"Mad beauty, or fair moon."

"I am glad to say that I have nothing in common with my name."

"Have you any brothers or sisters?"

"I have only one married sister, with whom you may possibly be
acquainted."

"What is her name, and who is her husband?"

"Her husband is a Piedmontese, but she does not live with him."

"Is she the Madame Slopis who travels with Aston?"

"Exactly."

"I can give you good news of her."

After dinner I asked Agatha how she came to know Callimena.

"My husband is her godfather."

"What is her exact age?"

"Fourteen."

"She's a simple prodigy! What loveliness!"

"Her sister is still handsomer."

"I have never seen her."

A servant came in and said M. Goudar would like to have a little private
conversation with the advocate.

The advocate came back in a quarter of an hour, and informed me that
Goudar had given him the two hundred ounces, and that he had returned him
the ring.

"Then that's all settled, and I am very glad of it. I have certainly made
an eternal enemy of him, but that doesn't trouble me much."

We began playing, and Agatha made me play with Callimena, the freshness
and simplicity of whose character delighted me.

I told her all I knew about her sister, and promised I would write to
Turin to enquire whether she were still there. I told her that I loved
her, and that if she would allow me, I would come and see her. Her reply
was extremely satisfactory.

The next morning I went to wish her good day. She was taking a music
lesson from her master. Her talents were real