I need not tell you how I passed all the time from; Nino’s leaving me until he came back in the evening, just as I could see from my window that the full moon was touching the tower of the castle.  I sat looking out, expecting him, and I was the most anxious professor that ever found himself in a ridiculous position.  Temistocle had come, and you know what had passed between us, and how we had arranged the plan of the night.  Most heartily did I wish myself in the little amphitheatre of my lecture-room at the University, instead of being pledged to this wild plot of my boy’s invention.  But there was no drawing back.  I had been myself to the little stable next door, where I had kept my donkey, and visited him daily since my arrival, and I had made sure that I could have him at a moment’s notice by putting on the cumbrous saddle.  Moreover, I had secretly made a bundle of my effects, and had succeeded in taking it unobserved to the stall, and I tied it to the pommel.  I also told my landlady that I was going away in the morning with the young gentleman who had visited me, and who, I said, was the engineer who was going to make a new road to the Serra.  This was not quite true; but lies that hurt no one are not lies at all, as you all know, and the curiosity of the old woman was satisfied.  I also paid for my lodging, and gave her a franc for herself, which pleased her very much.  I meant to steal away about ten o’clock, or as soon as I had seen Nino and communicated to him the result of my interview with Temistocle.

The hours seemed endless, in spite of my preparations, which occupied some time; so I went out when I had eaten my supper, and visited my ass, and gave him a little bread that was left, thinking it would strengthen him for the journey.  Then I came back to my room, and watched.  Just as the moonlight was shooting over the hill, Nino rode up the street.  I knew him in the dusk by his broad hat, and also because he was humming a little tune through his nose, as he generally does.  But he rode past my door without looking up, for he meant to put his mule in the stable for a rest.

At last he came in, still humming, and apologised for the delay, saying he had stopped a few minutes at the inn to get some supper.  It could not have been a very substantial meal that he ate in that short time.

“What did the man say?” was his first question, as he sat down.

“He said it should be managed as I desired,” I answered.  “Of course I did not mention you.  Temistocle—­that is his name—­will come at midnight, and take you to the door.  There you will find this inamorata, this lady-love of yours, for whom you are about to turn the world upside down.”

“What will you do yourself, Sor Cornelio?” he asked, smiling.

“I will go now and get my donkey, and quietly ride up the valley to the Serra di Sant’ Antonio,” I said.  “I am sure that the signorina will be more at her ease if I accompany you.  I am a very proper person, you see.”