About two hours later, as the curate and his sister sat at the open window, silently enjoying the delicious softness of a starry night, they were startled by the loud talking of persons so near as to seem almost in the room with them. “English--I'll be sworn they are!” said one. “That instinctive dread of a stranger pertains only to our people. How could it have interfered with their comfort, that we sat and ate our meal in this corner?” “The landlord says they are young, and the woman pretty. That may explain something. Your countrymen, Philip, are the most jealous race in Europe.” L'Estrange coughed here three or four times, to apprise his neighbors that they were within earshot of others. “Listen to that cough,” cried the first speaker. “That was palpably feigned. It was meant to say, 'Don't talk so loud.'” “I always grow more indiscreet under such provocation,” said the other, whose words were slightly tinged with a foreign accent. A merry laugh burst from Julia at this speech, which the others joined in by very impulse. “I suspect,” said the first speaker, “we might as well have occupied the same room, seeing in what close proximity we stand to each other.” “I think it would be as well to go to your room, Julia,” said George, in a low voice. “It is getting late, besides.” “I believe you are right, George. I will say good-night.” The last words appeared to have caught the ears of the strangers, who exclaimed together, “Good-night, goodnight;” and he with the foreign accent began to hum, in a very sweet tenor voice, “Buona sera, buona notte, buona sera;” which Julia would fain have listened to, but George hurried her away, and closed the door. “There is the end of that episode,” said the foreign voice. “Le mari jaloux has had enough of us. Your women in England are taught never to play with fire.” “I might reply that yours are all pyrotechnists,” said the other, with a laugh. The clatter of plates and the jingle of glasses, as the waiter laid the table for supper, drowned their voices, and L'Estrange dropped off asleep soon after. A hearty burst of laughter at last aroused him. It came from the adjoining room, where the strangers were still at table, though it was now nigh daybreak. “Yes,” said he of the foreign accent, “I must confess it. I never made a lucky hit in my life without the ungrateful thought of how much luckier it might have been.” “It is your Italian blood has given you that temperament.” “I knew you 'd say so, Philip; before my speech was well out, I felt the reply you 'd make me. But let me tell you that you English are not a whit more thankful to fortune than we are; but in your matter-of-fact way you accept a benefit as your just due, while we, more conscious of our deservings, always feel that no recompense fully equalled what we merited. And so it is that ever since that morning at Furnival's Inn, I keep on asking myself, Why twenty thousand? Why not forty--why not twice forty?”