I know that my fancy was inflamed, and suspect that my senses—­from whose occasional dominion I was no more free than most men—­must have sprung into flame from this dangerous contact, had it not been that her excessive joy induced an attack of hysterics.  For a time she was like a madwoman, beyond all human power; and she ended by fainting in my arms, and had to be carried by myself and Scipione, my servant, to a bed.  There she lay moaning and muttering to herself for an hour or more.  It may be imagined whether all this tended to calm my own agitation or to turn my thoughts towards that road whereby alone honour and salvation could be reached.  I could not go out to see Aurelia; I could hardly even think of Aurelia while Virginia lay in my house with closed eyes, clenched hands and shuddering breath.  I left Scipione in charge of her, and returned to my saloon, to pace the floor until he brought me word that she could be spoken with.  This he did not do for some hours.

He came in at last, shaking his head.  “That is a bad case, sir—­porca miseria!” says he.

I hoped that she was better.

“She’s ashamed of herself, sir,” he said, “as well she may be.  What a scandal, my word!  But these baggages have no modesty.”

The term offended me.  I told him he was talking nonsense.  “She is a true friend,” I said, “whose sympathy may be excessive; but to take joy in my joy is the act of a friend.”

Scipione saluted me.  “Sir, if her joy is your honour’s, I have no more to say.  A gentleman is entitled to his pleasures, I hope.  And she is a handsome girl, though she is thin.”

“That will do, my man,” said I.  “You say that she is better.”

“She is as well, sir, as she deserves,” replied this assured fellow, “but she is mad.”

“Mad!” I cried.

“Why, yes, sir,” says he.  “Judge for yourself.  Here is a girl frying in love, wanting to tell your honour that another is yours for the asking.”  He angered me by this freedom—­which I can assure the reader is not uncommon in this country—­and I dismissed him with a few directions.  I said that I must go out at once and was uncertain when I should return.  Meantime Virginia was to have every care, and was to be provided with—­ among other things—­suitable clothes for one in the position of a house-servant.  Those in which she had made her sudden appearance before me were obviously peculiar to the convent in which she worked, and to her standing there.  I left some money with Scipione and went out.

Perhaps it had been better to have interrogated Virginia before taking the step I now took, and so I should have done had I not been rather disturbed in my mind, first, by my own pleasure at seeing her again—­ which I now considered to have been disloyal to Aurelia—­and next, by Scipione’s account of her state of heart.  Virginia in love with me!  This was not the first time I had suspected it; but, reflecting upon our meeting, I was not able to deny that she