He slipped into a church by the wayside, where a fine old marble statue of Juno, supplied with a gilt halo, had been made to do service as the Virgin Mary. Before this Mary he threw himself down, and ardently unfolded all his doubts, and begged his mistress to give him a sign. If she nodded her head he would finish the conversion; if she shook it, he would desist. The statue, however, left him in a state of cruel uncertainty and did neither the one nor the other. But as the pink glory of a passing cloud flitted across the marble, the face appeared to smile most benignantly, perhaps it was that the ancient goddess, the protectress of married love and faith, declared her presence, or else that the new Queen of Heaven felt constrained to laugh at the plight in which her worshipper found himself. At the same time Jole’s father was walking under the cedars of his garden. He was lost in the contemplation of some new stones he had acquired. One was a beauteous amethyst, upon which Luna was pictured driving her chariot through the heavens, unaware that Cupid was catching a ride behind her, while little love-sprites flitting about her shouted out in Greek, “There’s a chap on behind!” A magnificent onyx had Minerva engraved upon it, with Cupid in her lap, polishing her breast-plate with his hand to see his image therein. These scenes tempted the old man to write some verses about them, and while he was choosing which to begin on, his little daughter Jole came into the garden. He showed her his treasures and explained them to her. She sighed deeply, and said: “Ah, if all these great Powers, Chastity, Wisdom, and Religion, cannot war with Love, how shall I?” These words took the old gentleman by surprise. “What is this I hear?” he said; “has the arrow of the all-powerful Eros touched you?” “It has pierced me,” she replied, “and if within another day I am not in the possession of the man I love, I shall die!” “Shall I then,” cried the old man, “take upon myself that most wretched of parental duties--shall I go and find the chosen one, the man, and bring him back by main force to the most precious of my possessions, and courteously ask him to take it for his own? Here is a pretty little woman, dear sir; I beg that you will not despise her! I should greatly prefer to box your ears, but my daughter would die, and I must be polite!” “We are spared all that,” said Jole, “for if I have your permission I hope to get him to come and ask for my hand.” “And what if, not knowing him at all, he should prove to be a rascal and a good-for-nothing?” “Then you may turn him from your door! But he is a saint!” “Go, then, and leave me alone with the Muses!” said the good old man. Another Vitalis came up the steps that evening than had come down the morning before, though he himself least understood the change. The notorious monk and girl-converter did not even know the difference between the smile of a courtesan and that of an honest woman.