"Good--I grant it!" exclaimed Riccabocca. "What then? 'Da cattiva Donna guardati, ed alla buona non fidar niente,' (from the bad woman, guard thyself; to the good woman trust nothing.) And if you must trust," added the abominable man, "trust her with anything but a secret!" "Fie," said Violante, with arch reproach, for she knew her father's humours too well to interpret his horrible sentiments literally--"fie on your consistency, _Padre carissimo_. Do you not trust your secret to me?" "You! A kitten is not a cat, and a girl is not a woman. Besides, the secret was already known to you, and I had no choice. Peace, Jemima will stay here for the present. See to what you wish to take with you; we shall leave to-night." Not waiting for an answer, Riccabocca hurried away, and with a firm step strode the terrace and approached his wife. "_Anima mia_," said the pupil of Machiavel, disguising in the tenderest words the cruellest intentions--for one of his most cherished Italian proverbs was to the effect, that there is no getting on with a mule or a woman unless you coax them--"_Anima mia_,--soul of my being--you have already seen that Violante mopes herself to death here." "She, poor child! Oh no!" "She does, core of my heart, she does, and is as ignorant of music as I am of tent-stitch." "She sings beautifully." "Just as birds do, against all the rules, and in defiance of gamut. Therefore, to come to the point, O treasure of my soul! I am going to take her with me for a short time, perhaps to Cheltenham, or Brighton--we shall see." "All places with you are the same to me, Alphonso. When shall we go?" "_We_ shall go to-night; but, terrible as it is to part from you--you--" "Ah!" interrupted the wife, and covered her face with her hands. Riccabocca, the wiliest and most relentless of men in his maxims, melted into absolute uxorial imbecility at the sight of that mute distress. He put his arm round his wife's waist, with genuine affection, and without a single proverb at his heart--"_Carissima_, do not grieve so; we shall be back soon, and travelling is expensive; rolling stones gather no moss, and there is so much to see to at home." Mrs Riccabocca gently escaped from her husband's arms. She withdrew her hands from her face, and brushed away the tears that stood in her eyes. "Alphonso," she said touchingly, "hear me! What you think good, that shall ever be good to me. But do not think that I grieve solely because of our parting. No; I grieve to think that, despite all these years in which I have been the partner of your hearth and slept on your breast--all these years in which I have had no thought but, however humbly, to do my duty to you and yours, and could have wished that you had read my heart, and seen there but yourself and your child--I grieve to think that you still deem me as unworthy your trust as when you stood by my side at the altar."