Sta bene?_" what wonder if the man of rage humbled himself before the
little Maid of Honour? What wonder, again, if she, out of the
overflowings of her happiness, should give him an alms?

No wonder at all, but pity there should be; for the Captain played an
unworthy part. I suppose his standard was not very high. I know he was
hungry; I know that nothing degrades a man so low as degradation--since
what he believes himself, that he is; but I find it hard to excuse him
for draining Bellaroba of her little secrets. Judas that he was, he took
her sop, and then sold her for thirty pieces of silver.

The draining of a well so limpid was the easiest thing in the world. She
was too absurdly happy, too triumphant altogether in the successful
craft of her brilliant little lord, to be continent. She dealt in
semi-transparent mystery with her manipulator from the moment he had won
her compassion. Her secret was none from the first, or it was like the
secret which a child will tell you, all the louder for being said in
your ear.

"My dear little friend," said the smirking Captain, when he had it,
"what you tell me there is as wine in my blood. I declare it sets me
singing tunes."

"Ah, but he is wonderful, my Angioletto," said she, and her eyes grew
larger for the thought of him.

"For a stripling of his inches he beats any cock that ever fought a
main," Mosca declared; "blood of Blood, but he does! What and if he did
square up to me--do I bear a grudge? Never, upon my body."

"You will not--you would not--ah, tell Olimpia of this, Signor
Capitano?" she hazarded. The Captain stroked one eye with the back of
his finger. He looked pityingly upon her with the other.

"Ah, my dear soul," he said, sighing, "could you think it of old
Mosca?"

Bellaroba hastened to disclaim. "No, no, no, I did not think it, Signor
Capitano. But for a minute I had a little fear. Olimpia never loved
Angioletto at all, and I don't think she loves me very much--now."

"To be plain with you, my lamb," said the Mosca, "she has no such vasty
love for me. I have not set foot within her door since a certain day you
may remember."

The girl shivered. "If I remember it! Ah, Madonna delle Grazie, she had
a devil that day!"

"She had seven, I'm sure of it," cried the Captain. "So I leave you to
judge how much of your story she may worm out of me."

He so beamed upon her, kissed her hands with such a lofty stoop, that
she felt ashamed of herself, and beg