ought our lovers back into the real
world. They faced their foes together with insensible meeting and
holding of young hands. Angioletto did his best not to feel a detected
schoolboy, and did succeed in meeting the Captain's terrific looks.
Bellaroba made no attempt at heroism. Her blush was a thing to be seen.

"Bellaroba, come with me, my child," said Olimpia severely; but
Angioletto kept her hand.

Captain Mosca fiddled at his sword-hilt.

"Would you like spitted lark for supper, Madonna?" he asked with
meaning.

Olimpia burst into a shrill laugh, and Angioletto, who had the pluck of
a little gamecock, turned to his partner in guilt.

"And you, Madonnetta," he said sweetly, "what do you say to _boars head_
larded?"

Bellaroba giggled in spite of herself--for she was terribly
frightened--but again Olimpia, the grand indifferent, pealed her
delight. The Captain glared round about him over a tossing sea of bales
and asses' ears; getting small joy of that, he scowled portentously at
the little minstrel and took a stride forward.

"Look you, sprigling," said he, "you have to do with a man of deeds; a
man, by Saint Hercules, of steel."

Angioletto was fired, cheek and eye. He never faltered.

"I wish I had to do with a man of sense," he said.

"If you do not drop that lady's hand, my lad--" growled the Mosca.

"What then, sir?"

"Then," the Captain roared, "by the ante-chambers of Paradise, she shall
cling to carrion!"

Bellaroba with a little cry fell to her knees; Olimpia bit her finger;
Angioletto shrugged.

"You have better lungs than manners, Captain," he said quietly. "These
ladies of ours are fatigued with travel and tired of fasting. Moreover,
I apprehend a bale of carpets on my back at every moment. We will, so
please you, sup. If you and the lady whom you escort will do me the
honour of sharing my table we can arrange other matters at our leisure.
I have always understood that encounters before ladies are make-believe;
but your experience should inform you how far that is true. By leave,
Signor Capitano."

Whereupon he lifts up the praying Bellaroba, kisses her forehead, and
hands her into the inn as bold as a Viscount. One or two tongues were in
one or two cheeks; one hand at least clapped him on the shoulder for a
"little assassin"--a compliment: the honours were his to that present.
Olimpia followed after him, very much impressed with the thought that
the sooner she could exchange Mosca for