One of our _pensionnaires_ was a swarthy Brazilian, living upon a colossal and mysteriously-begotten fortune and spending what remained to him of life upon the Mediterranean shores. He knew every _pensione_ of the whole wide region, and in strident, barbaric tones--continually reminding us of the savage aboriginal blood betrayed by narrow eyes and high cheek-bones--flooded our _table-d'hote_ with the gossip of _pensioni_ at Capri, Castellamare, Pompeii, Sorrento, and Salerno,--the giddiness of all the widows, the cunning of the young girls, the wickedness of the wives, and the barefaced or clever intriguing of husband-hunting mammas. All that year, as we quietly slipped from one Mediterranean _pensione_ to another, we met and recognized the heroes and heroines of our Brazilian's _chroniques scandaleuses_, and we breathed many a thanksgiving that we were slipping east while he slipped west and thus were not known of name and evil fame in advance of our coming. Our Brazilian was a devout Catholic, which led to his giving great offence at our table. Nobody could endure to pass him anything or to take anything from him, and the hideous bird-of-prey-like rattling of his right hand at any service turned many a delicate appetite away and made our Brazilian of almost Gorgon-like effect upon all new-comers. The finger-nails of his right hand were vowed to the Virgin: for two years they had been uncut, and now, like fiendish claws, extended two inches beyond the withered and dusky fingers. "Why am I not liked by _ces belles dames_?" he asked one day. "They never ask me to their excursions; they seem to shrink from taking my hand." "Because of your talons," somebody ventured to explain. "Oh, no! the Blessed Virgin would never allow _that_," he asserted confidently. Before the end of the summer, however, he seemed to lose confidence in the Virgin's tampering with natural law for his sake. One day we saw that the talons were sacrificed, and were told that the Mother of God had announced to our Brazilian in a dream that she would accept a vow never to cut his hair in place of the devoted nails. A few days later our _divoto_ came upon the loggia, where sat a bevy of ladies of many nations, in a screeching aboriginal rage. "I sacrificed my vow to you _belles dames_, although I refused it to Madame la Duchesse de B----," he screamed, "and yet you avoid me. Am I not an _homme fait_" (certainly our sixty-year-old Brazilian had never read "Pendennis"), "and better than any of these boys you admire? Do you imagine the Blessed Virgin will not pay you off for this? Do you think she will go back on a man like me,--of whom Victor Emanuel himself was jealous when I rode on the Pincian with Madame la Princesse della Gr----?" * * * * *