ing to recall the history of the affair, to her
mind "but--"

"Light does he call it, and of small account? I wish never to see another
as heavy! This is the impartiality of thy narratives, good Melchior, in
which a life preserved, wounds received, and a charge to make the German
quail, are set down as matters to be touched with a light hand!".

"If I did thee this service, it was more than deserved by the manner in
which, before Milan----"

"Well, let it all pass together. We are old fools, young lady, and should
we get garrulous in each other's praise, thou mightest mistake us for
braggarts; a character that, in truth, neither wholly merits. Didst thou
ever tell the girl, Melchior, of our mad excursion into the forests of the
Apennines, in search of a Spanish lady that had fallen into the hands of
banditti; and how we passed weeks on a foolish enterprise of errantry,
that had become useless, by the timely application of a few sequins on the
part of the husband, even before we started on the chivalrous, not to say
silly excursion?"

"Say chivalrous, but not silly," answered Adelheid, with the simplicity of
a young and sincere mind. "Of this adventure I have heard; but to me it
has never seemed ridiculous. A generous motive might well excuse an
undertaking of less favorable auspices."

"'Tis fortunate," returned the Signor Grimaldi, thoughtfully, "that, if
youth and exaggerated opinions lead us to commit mad pranks under the name
of spirit and generosity, there are other youthful and generous minds to
reflect our sentiments and to smile upon our folly."

"This is more like the wary grey-headed ex-pounder of wisdom than like the
hot-headed Gaetano Grimaldi of old!" exclaimed the baron, though he
laughed while uttering the words, as if he felt, at least a portion of the
other's indifference to those exaggerated feelings that had entered much
into the characters of both in youth. "The time has been when the words,
policy and calculation, would have cost a companion thy favor!"

"'Tis said that the prodigal of twenty makes? the miser of seventy. It is
certain that even our southern sun does not warm the blood of threescore
as suddenly as it heats that of one. But we will not darken thy daughter's
views of the future by a picture too faithfully drawn, lest she become
wise before her time. I have often questioned, Melchior, which is the most
precious gift of nature, a worm fancy, or the colder powers of reason. But
if