if it must be so, I shall tell you. It is very true that a young gentleman of the name of Bucciolo sent me hither; one who loves you better than all the world besides. There is nothing he would not do to please you, and indeed he appears so very wretched because he cannot speak to you, and he is so very good, that it is quite a pity. I think it will be the death of him, and then he is such a fine—such an elegant—young man, the more is the pity!” On hearing this, the lady, blushing deeply, turned sharply round upon the little old woman, exclaiming, “O you wicked creature! were it not for the sake of my own reputation, I would give you such a lesson that you should remember it to the latest day of your life! A pretty story to come before decent people with! Are you not ashamed of yourself to let such words come out of your mouth?” Then seizing an iron bar that lay across the doorway, “Ill betide you, little wretch!” she cried, as she brandished it. “If you ever come this way again, depend upon it, you will never go back alive!” The trembling old trot, quickly bundling up her wares, scampered off, in dread of feeling that cruel weapon on her shoulders, nor did she once think of stopping till she had reached the place where Bucciolo stood waiting her return. Eagerly inquiring the news and how she had succeeded, “O very badly—very badly,” answered the crone. “I never was in such a fright in all my life. Why, she will neither see nor listen to you, and if I had not run away, I should have felt the weight of a great iron bar upon my shoulders. For my own part, I shall go there no more; and I advise you, signor, to look to yourself how you proceed in such affairs in future.”