"He lives at the presbytery."

"And where, by-the-by, do _you_ live?" asked the lady.

"I live at the presbytery too," said Annunziata. "I am the niece of the
parroco. I am the orphan of his only brother. My friend Prospero lives
with us as a boarder. He is English."

"Indeed?" said the lady. "Prospero is a very odd name for an
Englishman."

"Prospero is not his name," said Annunziata. "His name is Gian. That is
English for Giovanni."

"But why, then," the lady puzzled, "do you call him Prospero?"

"Prospero is a name I have given him," explained Annunziata. "One day I
told his fortune. I can tell fortunes--with olive-stones, with
playing-cards, or from the lines of the hand. I will tell you yours, if
you wish. Well, one day, I told Prospero's, and everything came out so
prosperously for him, I have called him Prospero ever since. He will be
rich, though he is poor; and he will marry a dark woman, who will also
be rich; and they will have many, many children, and live in peace to
the end of their lives. But there!" Annunziata cried out suddenly, with
excitement, waving the hand that held her narcissus. "There is my friend
Prospero now, coming in the gig."

Down the avenue, sure enough, a gig was coming, a sufficiently shabby,
ancient gig, drawn, however, at a very decent pace by a very
decent-looking horse, and driven by John Blanchemain.