This done, I recovered my good temper.

Before dinner Agatha took me into her boudoir and shewed me all the splendid jewels I had given her when I was rich and in love.

“Now I am a rich woman,” said she, “and my good fortune is all your making; so take back what you gave me.  Don’t be offended; I am so grateful to you, and my good husband and I agreed on this plan this morning.”

To take away any scruples I might have, she shewed me the diamonds her husband had given her; they had belonged to his first wife and were worth a considerable sum.

My gratitude was too great for words, I could only press her hand, and let my eyes speak the feelings of my heart.  Just then her husband came in.

It had evidently been concerted between them, for the worthy man embraced me, and begged me to accede to his wife’s request.

We then joined the company which consisted of a dozen or so of their friends, but the only person who attracted my attention was a very young man, whom I set down at once as in love with Agatha.  His name was Don Pascal Latilla; and I could well believe that he would be successful in love, for he was intelligent, handsome, and well-mannered.  We became friends in the course of the meal.

Amongst the ladies I was greatly pleased with one young girl.  She was only fourteen, but she looked eighteen.  Agatha told me she was studying singing, intending to go on the stage as she was so poor.

“So pretty, and yet poor?”

“Yes, for she will have all or nothing; and lovers of that kind are rare in Naples.”

“But she must have some lover?”

“If she has, no one has heard of him.  You had better make her acquaintance and go and see her.  You will soon be friends.”

“What’s her name?”

“Callimena.  The lady who is speaking to her is her aunt, and I expect they are talking about you.”

We sat down to the enjoyment of a delicate and abundant meal.  Agatha, I could see, was happy, and delighted to shew me how happy she was.  The old Abbe Gama congratulated himself on having presented me.  Don Pascal Latilla could not be jealous of the attentions paid me by his idol, for I was a stranger, and they were my due; while her husband prided himself on his freedom from those vulgar prejudices to which so many Neapolitans are subject.

In the midst of all this gaiety I could not help stealing many a furtive glance towards Callimena.  I addressed her again and again, and she answered me politely but so briefly as to give me no opportunity of displaying my powers in the way of persiflage.

I asked if her name was her family name or a pseudonym.

“It is my baptismal name.”

“It is Greek; but, of course, you know what it means?”

“No.”

“Mad beauty, or fair moon.”

“I am glad to say that I have nothing in common with my name.”

“Have you any brothers or sisters?”