On the way he said to himself: "Has, then, Tostato forsworn his Easter confession, that now at evening he still has not arrived? and where the devil will he be to-morrow?"--Here! answered--Tostato behind him.--Such a jolly penitent no sacristy had ever yet seen. The child of fun and deviltry and penance told the reason of his wild delight: "The Princess had to-day, as his countrywoman, bought out half his shop." Before Victor had arrayed on his face in rank and file _those_ serious looks, with which he was going to entreat of him silence on the subject of his mercantile vicariate,--I mean, his shop-keeping,--the skipping penitent gladdened him with the news, that the Princess had inquired after his and her countrymen, his _associés_, and that he had not at all concealed from her, that somebody had once been of the latter without being of the former, namely, her Court-Physician himself.--"Thunder!" said the ... The poor fool of a merchant meant it well, and there was nothing further to be done about it than to investigate, whether Agnola's questioning had not been mere accident; whether she still had the watch, or had ever opened it; whether no wind had blown away the declaration of love as a sister-wind! After all it was a matter of grave consideration that the Pater and the Merchant, the evil eyes and the good news, should fall upon precisely the same time: this 30th of March, Easter-eve. As this visit is a very memorable one for my hero, I beg every one to settle himself down very comfortably, and split open beforehand the leaves of this narrative, stuck together with bookbinder's gilding, and to listen like a spy.