I sat on one side, the better to observe the swarm of girls, and I soon fixed my eyes on one whose appearance struck me.  She had a fine figure, delicate features, a noble air, and a patient look which interested me in the highest degree.  She was dancing with a man who did not scruple to abuse her in the coarsest manner when she made any mistakes, but she bore it without replying, though an expression of contempt mingled with the sweetness of her face.

Instinct drew me to the mother I have remarked on, and I asked her to whom the dancer that interested me belonged.

“I am her mother,” she replied.

“You, madam!  I should not have thought it possible.”

“I was very young when she was born.”

“I should think so.  Where do you come from?”

“I am from Lucca, and what is more-a poor widow.”

“How can you be poor, when you are still young and handsome, and have an angel for a daughter?”

She replied only by an expressive glance.  I understood her reserve, and I stayed by her without speaking.  Soon after, Agatha, as her daughter was named, came up to her to ask for a handkerchief to wipe her face.

“Allow me to offer you mine,” said I. It was a white handkerchief, and scented with attar of roses; this latter circumstance gave her an excuse for accepting it, but after smelling it she wanted to return it to me.

“You have not used it,” said I! “do so.”

She obeyed, and then returned it to me with a bow by way of thanks.

“You must not give it me back, fair Agatha, till you have had it washed.”

She smiled, and gave it to her mother, glancing at me in a grateful manner, which I considered of good omen.

“May I have the pleasure of calling on you?” said I.  “I cannot receive you, sir, except in the presence of my landlady.”

“This cursed restriction is general in Turin, then?”

“Yes, the superintendent uses everybody in the same way.”

“Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again here?”

In the evening I had one of the best suppers I ever had in my life, if I except those I enjoyed during my stay at Turin.  My cook was worthy of a place in the kitchen of Lucullus; but without detracting from his skill I must do justice to the products of the country.  Everything is delicious; game, fish, birds, meat, vegetables, fruit, milk, and truffles—­all are worthy of the table of the greatest gourmets, and the wines of the country yield to none.  What a pity that strangers do not enjoy liberty at Turin!  It is true that better society, and more politeness, such as are found in several French and Italian towns, are to be wished for.

The beauty of the women of Turin is no doubt due to the excellence of the air and diet.

I had not much trouble in extracting a promise from Madame Mazzoli and the two counts to sup with me every night, but the Chevalier de Raiberti would only promise to come whenever he could.