The true Venetian character of the girl struck me even more than her beauty. Her courage, frank indignation, and the nobility of her aspect made me resolve not to abandon her. I could not doubt that she had told a true tale, as my brother continued to observe a guilty silence.
I watched her silently for some time, and, my mind being made up, said,—
“I promise to send you back to Venice with a respectable woman to look after you; but you will be unfortunate if you carry back with you the results of your amours.”
“What results? Did I not tell you that we were going to be married at Geneva?”
“Yes, but in spite of that . . .”
“I understand you, sir, but I am quite at ease on that point, as I am happy to say that I did not yield to any of the wretch’s desires.”
“Remember,” said the abbe, in a plaintive voice, “the oath you took to be mine for ever. You swore it upon the crucifix.”
So saying he got up and approached her with a supplicating gesture, but as soon as he was within reach she gave him a good hearty box on the ear. I expected to see a fight, in which I should not have interfered, but nothing of the kind. The humble abbe gently turned away to the window, and casting his eyes to heaven began to weep.
“You are too malicious, my dear,” I said; “the poor devil is only unhappy because you have made him in love with you.”
“If he is it’s his own fault, I should never have thought of him but for his coming to me and fooling me, I shall never forgive him till he is out of my sight. That’s not the first blow I have given him; I had to begin at Padua.”