"Her father?" he asked.
"No; Benoni. There is no creature so relentless as an old man in pursuit of a young woman."
"I am not afraid of Benoni."
"You need not be afraid of her father," said I, laughing. "He is lame, and cannot run after you." I do not know why it is that we Romans laugh at lame people; we are sorry for them, of course, as we are for other cripples.
"There is something more than fear in the matter," said Nino, seriously. "It is a great thing to have upon one's soul."
"What?" I asked.
"To take a daughter away from her father without his consent,—or at least without consulting him. I would not like to do it."
"Do you mean to ask the old gentleman's consent before eloping with his daughter? You are a little donkey, Nino, upon my word."
"Donkey, or anything else you like, but I will act like a galantuomo. I will see the count, and ask him once more whether he is willing to let his daughter marry me. If not, so much the worse; he will be warned."
"Look here, Nino," I said, astonished at the idea. "I have taught you a little logic. Suppose you meant to steal a horse instead of a woman. Would you go to the owner of the horse, with your hat in your hand, and say, 'I trust your worship will not be offended if I steal this horse, which seems to be a good animal and pleases me'; and then would you expect him to allow you to steal his horse?"