"You ought to be grateful to me. I have done for you what you seem
unable to do for yourself."

"I don't see any Camerino in my case," he said.

"Perhaps among those gentlemen I can find one for you."

"Thank you," he cried; "I'll take care of that myself!" And he went
away--satisfied, I hope.

10th.--He's an obstinate little wretch; it irritates me to see him
sticking to it. Perhaps he is looking for his Camerino. I shall leave
him, at any rate, to his fate; it is growing insupportably hot.

11th.--I went this evening to bid farewell to the Scarabelli. There was
no one there; she was alone in her great dusky drawing-room, which was
lighted only by a couple of candles, with the immense windows open over
the garden. She was dressed in white; she was deucedly pretty. She
asked me, of course, why I had been so long without coming.

"I think you say that only for form," I answered. "I imagine you know."

"_Che_! what have I done?"

"Nothing at all. You are too wise for that."

She looked at me a while. "I think you are a little crazy."

"Ah no, I am only too sane. I have too much reason rather than too