e
convent, and I owed for them. It was also partly for myself, because I
was hungry. I could find not any other way, and so--but that is all."

I turned and went stumblingly away from them.

In my agony that she should know, I could do nothing but seek greater
darkness. I felt myself beaten, dizzy with beatings. That thing which
I had done in Paris discredited me. A man whose head-top had borne an
advertisement of the Folie-Rouge to think he could be making a combat
with the Prince Caravacioli!

Leaning over the railing in the darkest corner of the terrace, I felt my
hand grasped secondarily by that good friend of mine.

"God bless you!" whispered Poor Jr.

"On my soul, I believe he's done himself. Listen!"

I turned. That beautiful lady had stepped out into the light from the
salon door. I could see her face shining, and her eyes--ah me, how
glorious they were! Antonio followed her.

"But wait," he cried pitifully.

"Not for you!" she answered, and that voice of hers, always before so
gentle, rang out as the Roman trumpets once rang from this same cliff.
"Not for you! I saw him there with his painted head and I understood!
You saw him there, and you did nothing to help him! And the two little
children--your nieces, too,--and he your brother!"

Then my heart melted and I found myself choking, for the beautiful lady
was weeping.

"Not for you, Prince Caravacioli," she cried, through her tears,--"Not
for you!"

Chapter Ten

All of the beggars in Naples, I think, all of the flower-girls and boys,
I am sure, and all the wandering serenaders, I will swear, were under
our windows at the Vesuve, from six o'clock on the morning the "Princess
Irene" sailed; and there need be no wonder when it is known that Poor
Jr. had thrown handfuls of silver and five-lire notes from our balcony
to strolling orchestras and singers for two nights before.

They wakened us with "Addio, la bella Napoli, addio, addio!" sung to the
departing benefactor. When he had completed his toilet and his coffee,
he showed himself on the balcony to them for a moment. Ah! What a
resounding cheer for the signore, the great North-American nobleman! And
how it swelled to a magnificent thundering when another largess of his
came flying down among them!

Who could have reproved him? Not Raffaele Ansolini, who was on his knees
over the bags and rugs! I think I even made some prolongation of that
position, for I was far from assured of my counte