“To the convent, pretty Agnes?  Of all things, what should you want to go to the convent for?  You never had any trouble.  You are young, and handsome, and healthy, and almost any of the fellows would think himself fortunate to get you.”

“I would go there to live for God and pray for souls,” said Agnes.

“But your grandmother will never let you; she means you shall marry me.  I heard her and my mother talking about it last night; and my mother bade me come on, for she said it was all settled.”

“I never heard anything of it,” said Agnes, now for the first time feeling troubled.  “But, my good Antonio, if you really do like me and wish me well, you will not want to distress me?”

“Certainly not.”

“Well, it will distress me very, very much, if you persist in wanting to marry me, and if you say any more on the subject.”

“Is that really so?” said Antonio, fixing his great velvet eyes with an honest stare on Agnes.

“Yes, it is so, Antonio; you may rely upon it.”

“But look here, Agnes, are you quite sure?  Mother says girls do not always know their mind.”

“But I know mine, Antonio.  Now you really will distress and trouble me very much, if you say anything more of this sort.”

“I declare, I am sorry for it,” said the young man.  “Look ye, Agnes,—­I did not care half as much about it this morning as I do now.  Mother has been saying this great while that I must have a wife, that she was getting old; and this morning she told me to speak to you.  I thought you would be all ready,—­indeed I did.”

“My good Antonio, there are a great many very handsome girls who would be glad, I suppose, to marry you.  I believe other girls do not feel as I do.  Giulietta used to laugh and tell me so.”

“That Giulietta was a splendid girl,” said Antonio.  “She used to make great eyes at me, and try to make me play the fool; but my mother would not hear of her.  Now she has gone off with a fellow to the mountains.”

“Giulietta gone?”

“Yes, haven’t you heard of it?  She’s gone with one of the fellows of that dashing young robber-captain that has been round our town so much lately.  All the girls are wild after these mountain fellows.  A good, honest boy like me, that hammers away at his trade, they think nothing of; whereas one of these fellows with a feather in his cap has only to twinkle his finger at them, and they are off like a bird.”

The blood rose in Agnes’s cheeks at this very unconscious remark; but she walked along for some time with a countenance of grave reflection.

They had now gained the street of the city, where old Elsie stood at a little distance waiting for them.

“Well, Agnes,” said Antonio, “so you really are in earnest?”

“Certainly I am.”

“Well, then, let us be good friends, at any rate,” said the young man.

“Oh, to be sure, I will,” said Agnes, smiling with all the brightness her lovely face was capable of.  “You are a kind, good man, and I like you very much.  I will always remember you kindly.”