his own picked, while he was in the act, by some sharp-featured imp of a castrato.  In fine, the whole house from floor to rafters was full; the bedchambers, to call them so which had no beds in them, were worse than the kitchen.  I could not see that I had gained anything by following my questionable guide; but he, who had more resources than I knew of, having snatched a half-loaf and bottle of wine from the lower quarters, trampled and fought his way upstairs with them, showed me a ladder which gave on to the roof, and went up it like a bird, without using his hands.  I followed him, and saw a proud light in his eyes as he invited me to survey my private room.  We were in the valley formed by the two pitches of the roof, nothing between our heads and the evening sky.  The revellings and blasphemies of the house were not to be heard; pigeons clustered on the chimney-pots or strutted the ridges of the house; a cat, huddled up, watched them from a corner.  Stars showed faintly here and there; we were sheltered from the wind; I heard far off the angelus bell ringing.

“Here, at any rate, you won’t be disturbed,” said my protector.  “Eat, sir, drink, and repose yourself.  When you feel inclined you shall tell me how I can serve you further.”

The evening bell, and this kindness of the lad’s, had reminded me of what I was.  I said, “My friend, I shall first thank God for having made your nation the boldest, the most ingenious, the gentlest, the most modest, most open-hearted in the world.  You see before you a man of all men most unfortunate; but yet I say to you in the presence of God and of his household, whose lights are kindling even now, that, but for the like of you, many and many a time I should have died unannealed.”

He was confused and, boylike, tried to laugh off my praises.  “You give me too high a character, sir,” said he.  “I am a graceless devil of the Veneto, without prospect or retrospect to be proud of, a poor creature who has to go to market with what wares he has.  If I can look forward it is because I dare not look back.  What I am doing for you now, for which you are so kind as to praise me, is not virtue.  I wish to Heaven virtue were so easy got.  Eat, however, drink and rest.  If I am no better than I should be, I suppose I am not worse than I could be.  And I cannot allow you to praise me for that.”

“You are of the race of the Samaritans,” said I, “whether you hail from Venice or Tuscany.  I am an Englishman, my name is Francis.  How are you called?”

He said, “I believe my name is Daniele; but they call me here, in the company, Belviso.”

“And they do well,” I returned, “for that you certainly are, and, as far as I am concerned, you prove as good as you are good-looking.”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “No one is better than he can help, I fancy, sir,” he said.  “There is every inducement to be wicked in this world.  But I will say this of myself—­and I dare say everybody else can say the same—­that when I am good I am as good as gold, for I realise perfectly well my unusual estate and become a very usurer of virtue.  But this is of rare occurrence, seeing that I am an actor.  By ordinary, for the fifteen years that I have been in the world, I am remarkably vicious.”