She used to walk along, leaning on my arm, without looking at anything.  Why did she remain with me, with us, who seemed to do so little to amuse her?  Who was she?  Where did she come from?  What was she doing?  Had she any plan or idea?  Where did she live?  As an adventuress, or by chance meetings?  I tried in vain to find out and to explain it.  The better I knew her the more enigmatical she became.  She seemed to be a girl of poor family who had been taken away, and then cast aside and lost.  What did she think would become of her, or whom was she waiting for?  She certainly did not appear to be trying to make a conquest of me, or to make any real profit out of me.

I tried to question her, to speak to her of her childhood and family; but she never gave me an answer.  I stayed with her, my heart unfettered and my senses enchained, never wearied of holding her in my arms, that proud and quarrelsome woman, captivated by my senses, or rather carried away, overcome by a youthful, healthy, powerful charm, which emanated from her fragrant person and from the well-molded lines of her body.

Another week passed, and the term of my journey was drawing on, for I had to be back in Paris by the eleventh of July.  By this time Paul had come to take his part in the adventure, though still grumbling at me, while I invented pleasures, distractions and excursions to amuse Francesca and my friend; and in order to do this I gave myself a great amount of trouble.

One day I proposed an excursion to Sta Margarita, that charming little town in the midst of gardens, hidden at the foot of a slope which stretches far into the sea up to the village of Portofino.  We three walked along the excellent road which goes along the foot of the mountain.  Suddenly Francesca said to me:  “I shall not be able to go with you to-morrow; I must go and see some of my relatives.”

That was all; I did not ask her any questions, as I was quite sure she would not answer me.

The next morning she got up very early.  When she spoke to me it was in a constrained and hesitating voice: 

“If I do not come back again, shall you come and fetch me?”

“Most certainly I shall,” was my reply.  “Where shall I go to find you?”

Then she explained:  “You must go into the Street Victor-Emmanuel, down the Falcone road and the side street San-Rafael and into the furniture shop in the building at the right at the end of a court, and there you must ask for Madame Rondoli.  That is the place.”

And so she went away, leaving me rather astonished.

When Paul saw that I was alone, he stammered out:  “Where; is Francesca?” And when I told him what had happened, he exclaimed: 

“My dear fellow, let us make use of our opportunity, and bolt; as it is, our time is up.  Two days, more or less, make no difference.  Let us go at once; go and pack up your things.  Off we go!”

But I refused.  I could not, as I told him, leave the girl in that manner after such companionship for nearly three weeks.  At any rate, I ought to say good-by to her, and make her accept a present; I certainly had no intention of behaving badly to her.