I need not relate the story of my courtship--it was brief and sweet
as a song sung perfectly. There were no obstacles. The girl I sought
was the only daughter of a ruined Florentine noble of dissolute
character, who gained a bare subsistence by frequenting the gaming-
tables. His child had been brought up in a convent renowned for
strict discipline--she knew nothing of the world. She was, he
assured me, with maudlin tears in his eyes, "as innocent as a flower
on the altar of the Madonna." I believed him--for what could this
lovely, youthful, low-voiced maiden know of even the shadow of evil?
I was eager to gather so fair a lily for my own proud wearing--and
her father gladly gave her to me, no doubt inwardly congratulating
himself on the wealthy match that had fallen to the lot of his
dowerless daughter.

We were married at the end of June, and Guido Ferrari graced our
bridal with his handsome and gallant presence.

"By the body of Bacchus!" he exclaimed to me when the nuptial
ceremony was over, "thou hast profited by my teaching, Fabio! A
quiet rogue is often most cunning! Thou hast rifled the casket of
Venus, and stolen her fairest jewel--thou hast secured the loveliest
maiden in the two Sicilies!"

I pressed his hand, and a touch of remorse stole over me, for he was
no longer first in my affection. Almost I regretted it--yes, on my
very wedding-morn I looked back to the old days--old now though so
recent--and sighed to think they were ended. I glanced at Nina, my
wife. It was enough! Her beauty dazzled and overcame me. The melting
languor of her large limpid eyes stole into my veins--I forgot all