little table. I heard a voice, that to which the
skirt pertained. It spoke the English, but not in the manner of the
inhabitants of London, who seem to sing undistinguishably in their
talking, although they are comprehensible to each other. To an Italian
it seems that many North-Americans and English seek too often the
assistance of the nose in talking, though in different manners, each
equally unagreeable to our ears. The intelligent among our lazzaroni
of Naples, who beg from tourists, imitate this, with the purpose of
reminding the generous traveller of his home, in such a way to soften
his heart. But there is some difference: the Italian, the Frenchman,
or German who learns English sometimes misunderstands the American: the
Englishman he sometimes understands.

This voice that spoke was North-American. Ah, what a voice! Sweet as the
mandolins of Sorento! Clear as the bells of Capri! To hear it, was like
coming upon sight of the almond-blossoms of Sicily for the first time,
or the tulip-fields of Holland. Never before was such a voice!

"Why did you stop, Rufus?" it said.

"Look!" replied the American trousers; so that I knew the pongee lady
had not observed me of herself.

Instantaneously there was an exclamation, and a pretty grey parasol,
closed, fell at my feet. It is not the pleasantest to be an object which
causes people to be startled when they behold you; but I blessed the
agitation of this lady, for what caused her parasol to fall from her
hand was a start of pity.

"Ah!" she cried. "The poor man!"

She had perceived that I was a gentleman.

I bent myself forward and lifted the parasol, though not my eyes I could
not have looked up into the face above me to be Caesar! Two hands came
down into the circle of my observation; one of these was that belonging
to the trousers, thin, long, and white; the other was the grey-gloved
hand of the lady, and never had I seen such a hand--the hand of an angel
in a suede glove, as the grey skirt was the mantle of a saint made by
Doucet. I speak of saints and angels; and to the large world these may
sound like cold words.--It is only in Italy where some people are found
to adore them still.

I lifted the parasol toward that glove as I would have moved to set a
candle on an altar. Then, at a thought, I placed it not in the glove,
but in the thin hand of the gentleman. At the same time the voice of the
lady spoke to me--I was to have the joy of remembering that this vo