my hand.

"Madam," I said courteously, "I deplore the necessity of laying violence
upon you, but pray you to believe, if you can, in my sincere respect for
you. I am travelling to Florence, but alone. Help me to avoid these
guests of yours, and I shall be eternally grateful." When I was sure
that she had understood me I released her; she sighed.

"Forgive me, sir," she said, "but I thought you were going to make love
to me."

"God forbid it," said I, perhaps a little too devoutly, for she seemed
to be piqued.

She said, "It's as you please, sir, of course. He never forbids what you
gentlemen have a mind to."

"You are wrong, my dear," I replied. "He does forbid it--but we don't
know it until too late."

"Sir," said she, "it's not too late yet." It was now for me to sigh.

"If you knew, or could read, one page of my story," I told her, "you
would understand how late I am, and how pressed for time. Will you not
help me? I am in your hands." She looked kindly.

"Stay here, sir," said she. "I'll do my best for you."

What means she took cannot be told; but after a short absence she
returned with bread and a jug of wine under her apron, and beckoning me