“The Signore Pietro, with his prompt tact, made the lady’s paleness a pretence for addressing her. ‘Did she feel ill—everything in the house was at her disposition— “‘Servants, carpets, chairs and tables, Kitchen, pantry, hall and stables, Everything above or under; All my present earthly plunder, All too small for such a wonder.’ “The lady, with a smile and a glance in which there was not the slightest trace of being startled or abashed, replied: “‘’Tis not worth while your house to rifle, _O mio Signor_, for such a trifle. ’Tis but a slight indisposition, For which I’ll rest, by your permission.’ “The Signore Pietro, as an improvisatore, was delighted with such a ready answer, and remarking that he was something of a doctor, begged permission to bring a soothing cordial, admirable for the nerves, which he hoped to have the honour of placing directly in that fairy-like hand. . . . The Signore vanished to seek the _calmante_. “The guests had begun by this time to notice this lady, and from her extremely strange appearance they gathered round her, expecting at first to have some sport in listening to, or quizzing, an eccentric or a character. But they changed their mind as they came to consider her—some feeling an awe as if she were a _fata_, and all being finally convinced that whoever she was she had come there to _sell_ somebody amazingly cheap, nor did they feel quite assured that they themselves were not included in the bargain. “The Signore Pietro returned with the soothing cordial; he had evidently not drunk any of it himself while on the errand, for there was a massive chased iron table inlaid with gold and silver in his way, and the mighty lord with an angry blow from his giant arm, like one from a blacksmith’s No. 1 hammer, broke it, adding an artisan-like oath, and knocked it over. Flirtation had begun. “‘Did you hurt yourself, Signore?’ asked the lady amiably. “‘Not I, indeed,’ he replied proudly. ‘A Stone is my name, but it ought to have been Iron, lady, for I am hard as nails, a regular Ferrone or big man of iron, and all my ancestors were Ferroni too; ah! we are a strong lot—at your service!’ Saying this he handed the cup to the lady, who drank the potion, and then, instead of giving the goblet back to the Signore Pietro, as he expected, meaning to gallantly drink off _les doux restes_, she beckoned with her finger and an upward scoop of her hand to the table, which was lying disconsolately on its back with its legs upwards, like a trussed chicken waiting to be carved, when lo! at the signal it jumped up and came walking to her like a Christian, its legs moving most humanly, and yet all present were appalled at the sight, and the Signore gasped— “‘I believe the devil’s in it!’