calling her the vilest names, and finally telling her that she was a
hypocrite, and he felt certain she had already granted me all a worthless
girl could grant.

Betty grew pale as death, and furious in my turn, I ran for my sword. I
should probably have run him through, if the infamous scoundrel had not
fled into the next room, where he locked himself in.

I was in despair at seeing Betty's distress, of which I had been the
innocent cause, and I did my best to soothe her.

She was in an alarming state. Her breath came with difficulty, her eyes
seemed ready to start out of her head, her lips were bloodless and
trembling, and her teeth shut tight together. Everyone in the inn was
asleep. I could not call for help, and all I could do was to dash water
in her face, and speak soothing words.

At last she fell asleep, and I remained beside her for more than two
hours, attentive to her least movements, and hoping that she would awake
strengthened and refreshed.

At day-break I heard l'Etoile going off, and I was glad of it. The people
of the inn knocked at our door, and then Betty awoke.

"Are you ready to go, my dear Betty?"

"I am much better, but I should so like a cup of tea."

The Italians cannot make tea, so I took what she gave me, and went to
prepare it myself.

When I came back I found her inhaling the fresh morning air at the
window. She seemed calm, and I hoped I had cured her. She drank a few
cups of tea (of which beverage the English are very fond), and soon
regained her good looks.

She heard some people in the room where we had supped, and asked me if I
had taken up the purse which I had placed on the table. I had forgotten
it completely.

I found my purse and a piece of paper bearing the words, "bill of
exchange for three thousand crowns." The impostor had taken it out of his
pocket in making his bet, and had forgotten it. It was dated at Bordeaux,
drawn on a wine merchant at Paris to l'Etoile's order. It was payable at
sight, and was for six months. The whole thing was utterly irregular.

I took it to Betty, who told me she knew nothing about bills, and begged
me to say nothing more about that infamous fellow. She then said, in a
voice of which I can give no idea,--

"For pity's sake do not abandon a poor girl, more worthy of compassion
than blame!"

I promised her again to have all a father's care for her, and soon after
we proceeded on our journey.

The poor girl fell asleep, and I follo