“Art thou a student of the art which is our country’s pride?” continued the latter, “or does love inspire the skill which thou hast here displayed?”

“I am no student,” Gulielmo replied; “and yet I daily try, in my unknowing way, to counterfeit the forms which I see.”

“It were pity then,” rejoined the other, “that such as thou should idly waste those talents which when duly trained would surely bring their owner fame and wealth.  Suppose for instance that some great lord, or other noble patron of the arts, should send thee a couple of years to Rome;—­but I forget.  Perchance the maid whom thou hast pictured here, might interpose her pretty face to spoil so fair a plan?”

“Alas!” said Gulielmo, quickly, “she is not for me.  And though I see that you are jesting, I tell you truly that I would go where any chance might lead me, so that I might never see her or Sorento again.”

“I do not jest,” answered the stranger.  “Indeed, I know your story already.  I was present just now at the inn, when you and Jean Maret fell at variance.  And, friend Gulielmo, I know of a certain lord who I am confident will do you the office which your talents require.  He is a Russian prince, of generous hand, although of a somewhat rough exterior.  Take courage; perchance affairs may have a better turn.  And if the Russian, as no doubt he will, shall take thee under his wing, mayhap old Gaspar’s purpose may yield some grace to thy ill-prospered love.  Hie home then, and wait a little for the flood of fortune.  I’ve faith that thy ill-luck will shortly change to good.”

The stranger turned away.  Gulielmo, in mute surprise, watched his steps a while, and then hastened along the winding path which led him back to his own cottage door.

CHAPTER II.

Pas SEUL by Moonlight.

The moon hung high in silver light above the village and the quiet fields which lay beyond, when a gallant train came in order down the unfrequented street.  Appareled gaily, each cavalier wore roquelaure and belt, and in their midst they bore a prisoner—­the veteran Jean.  Reaching at length the grassy market-place, they halted and formed a ring, in the midst of which they placed their captive.  Some of the number drew from underneath their short cloaks instruments of music, while others cleared their throats as if about to sing.  Presently there stepped apart a masked form, who thus gave command in a rude sort of rhyme: 

    “Hola, my merry mountaineers,
        Prepare a festive lay;
    Our gallant friend will measure trip
        While we a song essay.”

Each other masker thereupon drew a rapier, and turned its point to centre.

    “Unbind the captive, give him room;
        Now, friend, pray mind your play. 
    Strike up, my lads, and heed your time,
        And merrily troll away.”