He didn't say he was sure, but he presently inquired in what way the
Countess Salvi had been dangerous.

"You must not ask me that," I answered "for after all, I desire to
remember only what was good in her." And as we walked back I begged him
to render me the service of mentioning my name to his friend, and of
saying that I had known her mother well, and that I asked permission to
come and see her.

9th.--I have seen that poor boy half a dozen times again, and a most
amiable young fellow he is. He continues to represent to me, in the most
extraordinary manner, my own young identity; the correspondence is
perfect at all points, save that he is a better boy than I. He is
evidently acutely interested in his Countess, and leads quite the same
life with her that I led with Madame de Salvi. He goes to see her every
evening and stays half the night; these Florentines keep the most
extraordinary hours. I remember, towards 3 A.M., Madame de Salvi used to
turn me out.--"Come, come," she would say, "it's time to go. If you were
to stay later people might talk." I don't know at what time he comes
home, but I suppose his evening seems as short as mine did. Today he
brought me a message from his Contessa--a very gracious little speech.
She remembered often to have heard her mother speak of me--she called me
her English friend. All her mother's friends were dear to her, and she
begged I would do her the honour to come and see her. She is always at
home of an evening. Poor young Stanmer (he is of the Devonshire
Stanmers--a great property) reported this speech verbatim, and of course
it can't in the least signify to him that a poor grizzled, battered
soldier, old enough to be his father, should come to call upon his
_inammorata_. But I remember how it used to matter to me when other men
came; that's a point of difference. However, it's only because I'm so