“I would have said them in no language that I understood; and it was very wrong of you to take advantage of my ignorance and make me say such things.”

“Why so?” said I.  “If you said them, I said them, too.”

“You did so,” said Belle; “but I believe you were merely bantering and jeering.”

“As I told you before, Belle,” said I, “the chief difficulty which I find in teaching you Armenian proceeds from your persisting in applying to yourself and me every example I give.”

“Then you meant nothing, after all?” said Belle, raising her voice.

“Let us proceed:  sirietsi, I loved.”

“You never loved anyone but yourself,” said Belle; “and what’s more——­”

“Sirietsits, I will love,” said I; “sirietsies, thou wilt love.”

“Never one so thoroughly heartless.”

“I tell you what, Belle—­you are becoming intolerable.  But we will change the verb.  You would hardly believe, Belle,” said I, “that the Armenian is in some respects closely connected with the Irish, but so it is.  For example:  that word parghatsoutsaniem is evidently derived from the same root as fear-gaim, which, in Irish, is as much as to say, ’I vex.’”

“You do, indeed,” said Belle, sobbing.

“But how do you account for it?”

“Oh, man, man!” cried Belle, bursting into tears, “for what purpose do you ask a poor ignorant girl such a question, unless it be to vex and irritate her?  If you wish to display your learning, do so to the wise and instructed, and not to me, who can scarcely read or write.”

“I am sorry to see you take on so, dear Belle,” said I.  “I had no idea of making you cry.  Come, I beg your pardon; what more can I do?  Come, cheer up, Belle.  You were talking of parting; don’t let us part, but depart, and that together.”

“Our ways lie different,” said Belle.

“I don’t see why they should,” said I.  “Come, let us be off to America together.”

“To America together?” said Belle.

“Yes,” said I; “where we will settle down in some forest, and conjugate the verb siriel conjugally.”

“Conjugally?” said Belle.

“Yes; as man and wife in America.”

“You are jesting, as usual,” said Belle.

“Not I, indeed.  Come, Belle, make up your mind, and let us be off to America.”

“I don’t think you are jesting,” said Belle; “but I can hardly entertain your offers; however, young man, I thank you.  I will say nothing more at present.  I must have time to consider.”

Next day, when I got up to go with Mr. Petulengro to the fair, on leaving my tent I observed Belle, entirely dressed, standing close to her own little encampment.

“Dear me,” said I.  “I little expected to find you up so early.”

“I merely lay down in my things,” said Belle; “I wished to be in readiness to bid you farewell when you departed.”

“Well, God bless you, Belle!” said I.  “I shall be home to-night; by which time I expect you will have made up your mind.”