signori,” he would say, looking round upon the gaping company, “I would rather be in this man’s shoes than in the Grand Duke’s, or in those of my blood-brother in God, the Patriarch of Venice.  Ha! he will break up larks’ bones this night! and where are the sheep’s trotters to deny him entry?  Where are the walnuts or the peach stones whose kernels are removed from him?  Ahi, signori! do you think, if Signor Dives had had so wholesome a mouth he would have left to Lazarus the bones?  Not he—­but the pith of every one of them had gone to make him sleeker.  Avanti, signori, avanti!  Let the next in torment come up.”  He had abundant custom, and seemed never to tire; but my turn came at last, introduced by a string of panegyric which spoke of me as the Nerve-Acrobat, the Lodestone of Ivory, the Electrical Indian Boy, at whose touch teeth flew from their sockets and tartar dissolved in smoke.  Pale, but with resolution, I grasped the weapon which he handed me.

To my consternation and half-undoing, I saw in the chair the sinewy form and honest brown face of Ercole, the heroic lover.  He saluted me with a smile and wave of the hand.  He was here to encourage me, he said.  Every man must make a beginning, and there was nothing like a friendly face.  Very much unnerved, I asked him which tooth he proposed to lose.  “Whichever you prefer,” he said.  “I am here ready.  Take this one for instance.”  He tapped a fine grinder in his lower jaw.  I asked him did it pain him?

“Why no,” he said, “it doesn’t in a manner ache; but it will give you some trouble, I believe, and I’m quite ready to oblige a friend with whom I have shared confidences.  Take your pleasure of my mouth by all means.  I recommend this one as a twister.”  Displaying here two rows of pearls, he tapped the biggest of them and awaited my attack.

“I would sooner starve than touch such beauty as this,” I said.

“Please yourself,” he replied, “but observe, by your refusal I lose three pauls.  There’s a matter of a wager between me and a friend which shall let the most blood.”

“Moreover, my young apprentice,” said Fra Palamone with severity, “you shall understand that breaking your covenant with me involves the breaking of my stick upon your back.”

“Via!” says Ercole, “where is your nerve, master?  Do you think I haven’t time enough at San Benedetto to grow a fresh crop!”

A terrible struggle ensued, but Ercole won his wager with ease.

Public confidence being now thoroughly established in Fra Palamone’s view, he opened his faro-bank on the last day of the fair, with Virginia and me for decoys—­to all appearance a young married couple from the sea-board, who were to play and win ten florins.  I was dressed, more or less, as a gentleman of the provinces—­and looked, I doubt not, like a clown—­in a white, flowered silk vest, white breeches and stockings, and a coat of full green velvet.  I carried a sword, my hair