of the sort. _Le cher_ Paolo will, if he is
really in earnest and not bluffing, send his friend to me, and matters
will be settled, never fear."

"I don't fear. At least, I--hope I don't--much. Only I wasn't brought
up to expect challenges to duels. They're not--in my line. But I won't
apologise, whatever happens. No, I won't, I won't, _I won't_. I dare
say it doesn't hurt much, being shot; and I suppose he wouldn't be
so--so impolite as to shoot me in the face, would he?"

"He is not going to shoot you anywhere," said I.

"I am glad I told you. I was feeling--rather queer. What am I to do?
Am I to go back to the villa as if nothing had happened, or--what?"

"'What' might mean coming to my hotel, but you seemed to find my
society a bore."

"That's unkind. It was your own fault that I went to a different hotel
at Chatelard."

"How do you make that out?"

"I can't tell you. I don't suppose you'll ever know. But if you should
guess, by-and-bye, remembering something you once said, you might
understand."

"Something I once said----"

"Never mind. Please don't talk of it. I'd rather be shot at. But I
want you to believe that my reason wasn't the one you thought. Now,
tell me what you're going to do about Signor di Nivoli. Have you made
a plan?"

"One has popped into my head," I replied. "It mayn't answer, but will
you give me _carte blanche_ to try? If it doesn't work, I'll get you
out of the mess in another way. But this would give us a chance of
making Paolo eat humble pie."

"Do try it, then. I'd risk a lot for that."

"As for to-night, on the whole I think the best thing will be for you
to go back to the villa. Of course we mustn't let the Contessa
suspect----"

"Little cat! I wouldn't give her the satisfaction."

"Upon my word, you're not very gallant."

"I don't care. I'm sick of the Contessa. A plague upon her, and all
her houses. Yet, I wish her nothing worse than that she should marry
Paolo. Ugh! A man with his hair _en brosse_!"

"Probably he is saying, 'Ugh! a boy with curls on his collar.'"

"May one of his old balloons fly away with him, before he shoots me.
Anyhow, he shall find that curls don't make a coward. Only--there's
just one thing before you treat with him. I won't--I _can't_--be
jabbed at with anything sharp."

"You shan't," said I.

With this, the Contessa beckoned from a distance, with news that she
was going home. We followed, the Boy and I, allowing her to walk far
ahead