She answered me by a piercing shriek, which left no room for doubt as to her identity. “For the love of Heaven, don’t do that!” I entreated, in an agony. “You will alarm the whole neighbourhood and ruin us both. Believe me, I am only here as your friend, and very much against my own wishes. I have come on the part of Count Albrecht von Rosenau, who is unable to come himself, because--” Here she opened her mouth with so manifest an intention of raising another resounding screech that I became desperate, and seized her by the wrists in my anxiety. “_Sgridi ancora una volta_,” says I, in the purest _lingua Toscana_, “_e la lascero qui_--to get out of this mess as best you can--_cosi sicuro che il mio nome e Jenkinsono_!” To my great relief she began to laugh. Immediately afterward, however, she sat down on the shingle and began to cry. It was too vexatious: what on earth was I to do? “Do you understand English?” I asked, despairingly. She shook her head, but sobbed out that she spoke French; so I proceeded to address her in that language. “Signorina, if you do not get up and control your emotion, I will not be answerable for the consequences. We are surrounded by dangers of the most--compromising description; and every moment of delay must add to them. I know that the officers often come out here to bathe in the morning; so do many of the English people from Danielli’s. If we are discovered together there will be such a scandal as never was, and you will most assuredly not become Countess von Rosenau. Think of that, and it will brace your nerves. What you have to do is to come directly with me to the boat which is all ready to take us to Mestre. Allow me to carry your hand-bag.” Not a bit of it! The signorina refused to stir. “What is it? Where is Alberto? What has happened?” she cried. “You have told me nothing.” “Well, then, I will explain,” I answered, impatiently. And I explained accordingly.