[Illustration: "My two helpers, with the shields and the swords of Orlando and Rinaldo, fought!"] "Who is the boy at the piano?" I asked. "Gaiterno? He is her cousin. He worships her. It would be a good match, but she will not listen to him. He is not strong enough, she says." "The little coquette!" I commented. "Ah, Signore, it is not that!" sighed Pietro. "It is the play. The play is in her head. Life to her is the play. She holds herself to be a princess. Strong men love her, she thinks. She says she will smile upon no one who is not as strong as Rinaldo. Listen, Signore. This is what I saw when I made entrance here three days ago. My two helpers, with the shields and the swords of Orlando and Rinaldo, fought, while Beatrice, with the crown of Angelica upon her head, sat upon the throne of Carlo Magno, and urged them on." The old man's arms were flourishing, and his eyes were bright. "I made Anselmo to go away upon the instant," he went on; "but Beatrice, she made a threat that she would elope with him. What could I do? I am an old man. She is my only child. You see—he is still here." The fire in his eyes went out, his head sank upon his breast, and his hands fell to his sides. I grasped one of them in mine. The old man returned my grasp bravely, and tried to smile. "It is sad, is it not, my friend," he said, "that my art should have brought this misfortune upon me!" Deborah's laughter gurgled down from the bench. Evidently she was in difficulties with her marionettes. An idea came to me. "Wait for me one minute," I said. "Perhaps Miss Speedwell can help us." "It is time to raise the curtain," answered Pietro. "You are a good friend. I go to my work with an uplifted heart." I hastened to the steps at the end of the bench. As I turned to mount them, I felt a hand upon mine, and found Beatrice beside me. "You lofe-a her!" declared the child, solemnly. The thought that I carried my heart upon my sleeve annoyed me. "Beatrice," I exclaimed, "you must learn not to be silly. You are too young to think of such things." "You not-a say dat once," returned Beatrice, reproachfully; and the recollection of my indiscreet chaffing added to my annoyance. I hurried away, doubtful of my plan. But my kind-hearted companion received it eagerly. "Ask her to visit us in the country? Of course I will!" she exclaimed, when I had told the story. [Illustration: Her arms were folded across her breast.]