Astonishment—­and very reasonable astonishment—­will be expressed that I dared to talk in this way to a girl fresh from a convent; but I should have been astonished myself at the bare idea of any respectable girl coming to Lambertini’s house.  I fixed my gaze on my fair companion, and saw the blush of shame mounting over her pretty face; but I thought that might have more than one meaning.

Judge of my surprise when, two minutes afterwards, I heard this question: 

“But what has ‘Sixtimes’ got to do with sleeping with Madame Lambertini?”

“My dear young lady, the explanation is perfectly simple:  my friend in a single night did what a husband often takes six weeks to do.”

“And you think me silly enough to tell my aunt of what we have been talking?  Don’t believe it.”

“But there’s another thing I am sorry about.”

“You shall tell me what that is directly.”

The reason which obliged the charming niece to retire for a few minutes may be guessed without our going into explanations.  When she came back she went behind her aunt’s chair, her eyes fixed on Tiretta, and then came up to me, and taking her seat again, said: 

“Now, what else is it that you are sorry about?” her eyes sparkling as she asked the question.

“May I tell you, do you think?”

“You have said so much already, that I don’t think you need have any scruples in telling me the rest.”

“Very good:  you must know, then, that this very day and in my presence he——­ -her.”

“If that displeased you, you must be jealous.”

“Possibly, but the fact is that I was humbled by a circumstance I dare not tell you.”

“I think you are laughing at me with your ‘dare not tell you.’”

“God forbid, mademoiselle!  I will confess, then, that I was humbled because Madame Lambertini made me see that my friend was taller than myself by two inches.”

“Then she imposed on you, for you are taller than your friend.”

“I am not speaking of that kind of tallness, but another; you know what I mean, and there my friend is really monstrous.”

“Monstrous! then what have you to be sorry about?  Isn’t it better not to be monstrous?”

“Certainly; but in the article we are discussing, some women, unlike you, prefer monstrosity.”

“I think that’s absurd of them, or rather mad; or perhaps, I have not sufficiently clear ideas on the subject to imagine what size it would be to be called monstrous; and I think it is odd that such a thing should humble you.”

“You would not have thought it of me, to see me?”

“Certainly not, for when I came into the room I thought you looked a well-proportioned man, but if you are not I am sorry for you.”

“I won’t leave you in doubt on the subject; look for yourself, and tell me what you think.”

“Why, it’s you who are the monster!  I declare you make me feel quite afraid.”