“I know nothing of this lady, nor of her nation,” she said, more gently than before, “but what you say of her pleases me very much.  Evidently you love her, and she you.  But you must allow me to tell you now, what I was timid to say before, that she showed much good sense in putting you in the cupboard, and you remarkably little in jumping out of it.  Half an hour more cupboard and your learned doctor had been asleep.  Next day you could have made your plans with your lady.  She would have rewarded you:  but so she would if, when she invited you to accompany her, you had offered her your arm and put on your hat.  What possessed you, then—­what inscrutable reasons had you?  But there would be no end to my questions and no satisfaction in your replies.  Why, Heaven! the world was before you two!  You had happiness, adventure, all the rest of it.  And if you must needs wander this world, need I assure you that two are better company than one?” Fra Palamone, I remembered, had been of that opinion too.  “As it is,” she continued, “you may be years before you find Aurelia, and you must be prepared for any step she may have been driven to take in her extremity.  I don’t wish to wound you—­but there can hardly be any doubt about her plans.”  She rose to her feet and looked kindly at me, saying, “I thank you for telling me your story.  If I understand it, I think you are rather mad; if I don’t, then I must be.  But I admire you; I think I love you.  I foretell happiness for you in times to come, but not of the sort you seem to hope for at present.”  She held out her hand to me.  “Adieu, Don Francesco,” she said, “we will part here.  Do you go to find Aurelia Gualandi, I to search for a lover like you.”

Deeply touched by this gentle conclusion of our argument, I held her hand and made her sit down again.  She resisted—­faintly, not seriously.  I then told her that I did not intend her to leave me in this manner, or in any manner which did not assure me of her honourable wellbeing; and now it was she who pleaded feebly, now it was I who was convinced, fiery, unanswerable.  I said that I was resolved to protect her honour, to work for her, to establish her firmly and comfortably in the world which had used her so ill.  I told her that, being devoted entirely to the love of Aurelia, my company could do her no harm; that, on the contrary, the world, putting the worst construction upon our alliance, would actually respect her more and do her less injury than if she went into it alone.  “I charge myself with your future, Virginia,” I said, “as if you were my sister.  I am young and able; I shall provide for you, never fear, until you are honourably and happily married.  And you shall accept this service from me—­the only one I can do you—­upon my own terms; and respect the bargain that you make with me more than you have your father’s.”

She would not look at me, and said nothing; but she gave me both her hands, and bending her head until she reached them, kissed mine fervently and with humble gratitude.  Thus began the most extraordinary partnership between a young man and woman which the world can ever have known.