"I, too, am running away," she said. "I do not like my home; I have a step-father; he is cruel, harsh, and wants to marry me to a man I do not love."
"How strange," murmured her companion, a look of wonder coming into her beautiful eyes, while an expression of sympathy crept over her lovely face.
"My father owes him for a fine pair of mules, just bought," the girl resumed, a look of scorn gleaming in here eyes, "and Beppo will call the debt square if I marry him. I will not be exchanged for brutes—I will not be sold like a slave, and to one I hate and loathe, and I fly from him," she concluded, indignantly, the rich blood mounting to her forehead.
"Where are you going?" questioned the other, eagerly.
"To Monaco, to find service in some family, as maid or nurse, until I can earn money to go to some school to learn to study," was the earnest reply.
"You are not an Italian?" the fair stranger said, inquiringly.
The girl shook her head, a sneer curling her red lips.
Evidently to be an Italian was not very desirable in her estimation.
"My mother is Swiss, my own father was French," she briefly answered.
"Ah! that is how you happen to be so light and to speak the French language. Will you tell me your name?"