"My friend, La Felina has deceived me only by a day. She was, however, mistaken herself. To-morrow, said she, you will _love me less_. To-day I love her no more. You see I have done better than she even hoped." He fell, with his heart crushed, on a chair, and sobbed. "Speak, speak to me," said Monte-Leone, forgetful of his friend's suffering in his own. "As I wrote to you," said Taddeo, "I determined to follow her, and find out her retreat at all events. Had it been necessary, I would have followed her to the end of the world. Leaving the horse I had in a street near the theatre, I went to the door whence I supposed La Felina would come. I had been there an hour when I saw a post-carriage approach. A few moments had elapsed when a woman, accompanied by a servant, left the theatre, and after looking anxiously around, to be sure that she was unobserved, entered the carriage. The valet got up behind, and the postillion, who had not left the saddle, whipped up his horses and left in a gallop. I mounted my horse and followed the carriage, keeping just two hundred yards behind it. The carriage was driven towards Rome, and at every post-house the horses were changed, on which occasions I kept out of sight, and then resumed my pursuit. Thus we travelled about fifteen leagues; when, however, we reached the eighth post-house, the carriage spring became broken and the body was thrown into a ditch. I rushed towards it, opened the door, and, in a fainting condition, received the person it contained. I bore her to the road, and, to give her air, threw aside her veil. I uttered a cry of rage and agony. The woman in my arms was not La Felina. The sound of my voice aroused the stranger's attention, and she looked at me as if she were afraid. 'Who are you?' said she, trembling. 'What do you wish?' 'To save La Felina, whom I thought was here.' 'La Felina! You were in search of La Felina!' 'Certainly.' 'And you are the horseman whom Giuseppe, the courier, told me at the last relay, followed us, are you?' 'Certainly I am.' The woman examined her arms, etc., to see that she was not hurt, looked at me most ironically, and then bursting into laughter, said: 'Well, after all, the trick was well played.' 'What trick?' 'The one La Felina has played on all her lovers, the most ardent of whom you are.' I looked at the woman so earnestly, and sorrow seemed so deeply marked on my countenance, that I saw an expression of pity steal over her face. 'Poor young man!' said she, 'then you really loved her?' 'I did, and if I lose her I shall die.' 'Come,' said she, 'you will not die. If all who have told me the same thing died, Naples would be like the catacombs of Rome. Come with me,' she continued, 'to the post-house, for now I feel by the pain I suffer that my arm is out of place. There I will tell you all.' I went with the woman to the post-house, when a few drops of cordial soon invigorated her. 'This is the explanation of what is a matter of so much surprise to you.