“I believe you are really the Wandering Jew!” cried Nino, as Benoni left the room.

“His name was certainly Ahasuerus,” Benoni replied from the outer door.  “But it may be a coincidence, after all.  Good-day.”  He was gone.

I was the first to take up the paper he had thrown upon a chair.  There was a passage marked with a red pencil.  I read it aloud:—­

“...  Baron Benoni, the wealthy banker of St. Petersburg, who was many years ago an inmate of a private lunatic asylum in Paris, is reported to be dangerously insane in Rome.”  That was all.  The paper was the Paris Figaro.

“Merciful Heavens!” exclaimed Hedwig, “and I was shut up with that madman in Fillettino!” Nino was already by her side, and in his strong arms she forgot Benoni, and Fillettino, and all her troubles.  We were all silent for some time.  At last Nino spoke.

“Is it true that the count was here this morning?” he asked, in a subdued voice, for the extraordinary visit and its sequel had made him grave.

“Quite true,” I said.  “He was here a long time.  I would not spoil your pleasure by telling you of it, when you first came.”

“What did he—­what did my father say?” asked Hedwig, presently.

“My dear children,” I answered, thinking I might well call them so, “he said a great many unpleasant things, so that I offered to fight him if he said any more.”  At this they both laid hold of me and began to caress me; and one smoothed my hair, and the other embraced me, so that I was half smothered.

“Dear Signor Grandi,” cried Hedwig, anxiously, “how good and brave you are!” She does not know what a coward I am, you see, and I hope she will never find out, for nothing was ever said to me that gave me half so much pleasure as to be called brave by her, the dear child; and if she never finds out she may say it again, some day.  Besides, I really did offer to fight Lira, as I have told you.

“And what is he going to do?” asked Nino, in some anxiety.

“I do not know.  I told him it was all legal, and that he could not touch you at all.  I also said you were staying at the Hotel Costanzi, where he might find you if he wished.”

“Oh!  Did you tell him that?” asked Hedwig.

“It was quite right,” said Nino.  “He ought to know, of course.  And what else did you tell him?”

“Nothing especial, Nino mio.  He went away in a sort of ill temper because I would not let him abuse you as much as he pleased.”

“He may abuse me and be welcome,” said Nino.  “He has some right to be angry with me.  But he will think differently some day.”  So we chatted away for an hour, enjoying the rest and the peace and the sweet sunshine of the Easter afternoon.  But this was the day of interruptions.  There was one more visitor to come,—­one more scene for me to tell you, and then I have done.

A carriage drove down the street and seemed to stop at the door of my house.  Nino looked idly out of the window.  Suddenly he started.