"I, myself, am a proof that she is a temptress, a demon," said Leonora, eagerly, but in a subdued voice. "I will tell you my thoughts, signore; there is something in your eyes that compels me to confess the truth. Listen, signore. When I, thanks to your good advice and skill, had won the first few paoli, I rejoiced over my fortune and thought to myself: 'I will give these to Theresa, the old woman I see on the steps of the Santa Marie della Pace, every morning when I attend mass at this church.' Old Theresa invariably stretches out her withered, trembling hand, and I am so rarely able to give her any thing, for my brother is not rich, signore, and we are compelled to economize his earnings. It always grieves me to have to pass by the poor woman without giving her any thing. I rejoiced over the first few paoli I had won, calculating that I could have them changed into copper coins and give Theresa one each day for a whole week. At this moment you handed me a few more paoli, telling me that I had already won an entire scudo. But what followed! Old Theresa's image vanished from my heart; it occurred to me that my brother had recently wished for a new cravat, and that I could now purchase it with my scudo. You are laughing at me, signore, are you not? You are right; it is very bold in me to impart my foolish, girlish thoughts to so wise a gentleman as yourself." "No, signora, I am not laughing at you," said Goethe, in such tender tones that she looked up in surprise and listened attentively, as though his words were sweet music. "I was only amused because your own words rebutted your accusations against Fortuna. The goddess has awakened good thoughts only in your bosom!"