"I'm not so sure--for one I loved," said he. "What would you have liked
me to bring you?"

Annunziata thought. "I liked those chocolate cigars," she said, her face
soft with reminiscence of delight.

"Ah, but we mustn't have it _toujours perdrix_," said John. "Do you, by
any chance, like marchpane?"

"Marchpane?--I adore it," she answered, in an outburst of emotion.

"You have your human weaknesses, after all," John laughed. "Well, I
stole a pocketful of marchpane."

Annunziata drew away again, her little white forehead furrowed.
"Stole?" she repeated, reluctant to believe.

"Yes," said he, brazenly, nodding his head.

"Oh, that was very wrong," said Annunziata, sadly shaking hers.

"No," said he. "Because, in the first place, it's a matter of proverbial
wisdom that stolen marchpane's sweetest. And, in the next place, I stole
it quite openly, under the eye of the person it belonged to, and she
made no effort to defend her property. Seeing which, I even went so far
as to explain to her _why_ I was stealing it. 'There's a young limb o'
mischief with a sweet tooth at Sant' Alessina,' I explained, 'who
regularly levies blackmail upon me. I'm stealing this for her.' And then
the lady I was stealing from told me I might steal as much as ever I