“It appears to me that if you meant to get possession of what was not yours, you might as well get it in the easiest possible way,” I objected.  “But we need not argue the case.  There is a much better reason why you should not consult the count.”

“I do not believe it,” said Nino, stubbornly.

“Nevertheless, it is so.  The Contessina di Lira is desperately unhappy, and if nothing is done she may die.  Young women have died of broken hearts before now.  You have no right to endanger her life by risking failure.  Answer me that, if you can, and I will grant you are a cunning sophist, but not a good lover.”

“There is reason in what you say now,” he answered.  “I had not thought of that desperateness of the case which you speak of.  You have seen her.”  He buried his face in his hand, and seemed to be thinking.

“Yes, I have seen her, and I wish you had been in my place.  You would think differently about asking her father’s leave to rescue her.”  From having been anxious to prevent anything rash, it seemed that I was now urging him into the very jaws of danger.  I think that Hedwig’s face was before me, as it had been in reality on the previous evening.  “As Curione said to Caesar, delay is injurious to anyone who is fully prepared for action.  I remember also to have read somewhere that such waste of time in diplomacy and palavering is the favourite resource of feeble and timid minds, who regard the use of dilatory and ambiguous measures as an evidence of the most admirable and consummate prudence.”

“Oh, you need not use so much learning with me,” said Nino.  “I assure you that I will be neither dilatory nor ambiguous.  In fact, I will go at once, without even dusting my boots, and I will say, Give me your daughter, if you can; and if you cannot, I will still hope to marry her.  He will probably say ‘No,’ and then I will carry her off.  It appears to me that is simple enough.”

“Take my advice, Nino.  Carry her off first, and ask permission afterwards.  It is much better.  The real master up there is Benoni, I fancy, and not the count.  Benoni is a gentleman who will give you much trouble.  If you go now to see Hedwig’s father, Benoni will be present at the interview.”  Nino was silent, and sat stretching his legs before him, his head on his breast.  “Benoni,” I continued, “has made up his mind to succeed.  He has probably taken this fancy into his head out of pure wickedness.  Perhaps he is bored, and really wants a wife.  But I believe he is a man who delights in cruelty, and would as lief break the contessina’s heart by getting rid of you as by marrying her.”  I saw that he was not listening.

“I have an idea,” he said at last.  “You are not very wise, Messer Cornelio, and you counsel me to be prudent and to be rash in the same breath.”

“You make very pretty compliments, Sor Nino,” I answered, tartly.  He put out his hand deprecatingly.

“You are as wise as any man can be who is not in love,” he said, looking at me with his great eyes.  “But love is the best counsellor.”