“Sarrasine crushed the snake’s head with a blow of his foot. “‘How could you dare to do it?’ said La Zambinella, gazing at the dead reptile with visible terror. “‘Aha!’ said the artist, with a smile, ‘would you venture to say now that you are not a woman?’ “They joined their companions and walked through the woods of Villa Ludovisi, which at that time belonged to Cardinal Cicognara. The morning passed all too swiftly for the amorous sculptor, but it was crowded with incidents which laid bare to him the coquetry, the weakness, the daintiness, of that pliant, inert soul. She was a true woman with her sudden terrors, her unreasoning caprices, her instinctive worries, her causeless audacity, her bravado, and her fascinating delicacy of feeling. At one time, as the merry little party of singers ventured out into the open country, they saw at some distance a number of men armed to the teeth, whose costume was by no means reassuring. At the words, ‘Those are brigands!’ they all quickened their pace in order to reach the shelter of the wall enclosing the cardinal’s villa. At that critical moment Sarrasine saw from La Zambinella’s manner that she no longer had strength to walk; he took her in his arms and carried her for some distance, running. When he was within call of a vineyard near by, he set his mistress down. “‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘why it is that this extreme weakness which in another woman would be hideous, would disgust me, so that the slightest indication of it would be enough to destroy my love,--why is it that in you it pleases me, fascinates me? Oh, how I love you!’ he continued. ‘All your faults, your frights, your petty foibles, add an indescribable charm to your character. I feel that I should detest a Sappho, a strong, courageous woman, overflowing with energy and passion. O sweet and fragile creature! how couldst thou be otherwise? That angel’s voice, that refined voice, would have been an anachronism coming from any other breast than thine.’ “‘I can give you no hope,’ she said. ‘Cease to speak thus to me, for people would make sport of you. It is impossible for me to shut the door of the theatre to you; but if you love me, or if you are wise, you will come there no more. Listen to me, monsieur,’ she continued in a grave voice. “‘Oh, hush!’ said the excited artist. ‘Obstacles inflame the love in my heart.’ “La Zambinella maintained a graceful and modest attitude; but she held her peace, as if a terrible thought had suddenly revealed some catastrophe. When it was time to return to Rome she entered a berlin with four seats, bidding the sculptor, with a cruelly imperious air, to return alone in the phaeton. On the road, Sarrasine determined to carry off La Zambinella. He passed the whole day forming plans, each more extravagant than the last. At nightfall, as he was going out to inquire of somebody where his mistress lived, he met one of his fellow-artists at the door.