like which the muletress seemed to think might well happen concerning herself—­we passed lightly to speak of kindred things, the muletress responding gayly between the blows she bestowed upon her beast.  The accent of these Capriotes has something of German harshness and heaviness:  they say non bosso instead of non posso, and monto instead of mondo, and interchange the t and d a good deal; and they use for father the Latin pater, instead of padre.  But this girl’s voice, as I said, was very musical, and the island’s accent was sweet upon her tongue.

I.—­What is your name?

She.—­Caterina, little sir (signorin).

I.—­And how old are you, Caterina?

She.—­Eighteen, little sir.

I.—­And you are betrothed?

She feigns not to understand; but the patriarch, who has dropped behind to listen to our discourse, explains,—­“He asks if you are in love.”

She.—­Ah, no! little sir, not yet.

I.—­No?  A little late, it seems to me.  I think there must be some good-looking youngster who pleases you—­no?

She.—­Ah, no! one must work, one cannot think of marrying.  We are four sisters, and we have only the buonamano from hiring these mules, and we must spin and cook.

The Patriarch.—­Don’t believe her; she has two lovers.

She.—­Ah, no!  It isn’t true.  He tells a fib—­he!

But, nevertheless, she seemed to love to be accused of lovers,—­such is the guile of the female heart in Capri,—­and laughed over the patriarch’s wickedness.  She confided that she ate maccaroni once a day, and she talked constantly of eating it just as the Northern Italians always talk of polenta. She was a true daughter of the isle, and had never left it but once in her life, when she went to Naples.  “Naples was beautiful, yes; but one always loves one’s own country the best.”  She was very attentive and good, but at the end was rapacious of more and more buonamano.  “Have patience with her, sir,” said the blameless Antonino, who witnessed her greediness; “they do not understand certain matters here, poor little things!”

As for the patriarch, he was full of learning relative to himself and to Capri; and told me with much elaboration that the islanders lived chiefly by fishing, and gained something also by their vineyards.  But they were greatly oppressed by taxes, and the strict enforcement of the conscriptions, and they had little love for the Italian Government, and wished the Bourbons back again.  The Piedmontese, indeed, misgoverned them horribly.  There was the Blue Grotto, for example:  formerly travellers paid the guides five, six, ten francs for viewing it; but now the Piedmontese had made a tariff, and the poor guides could only exact a franc from each person.  Things were in a ruinous condition.