Italian, very little of which they understood; for his _patois_ called forth from the volatile creatures bursts of laughter. "Bah!" said he in French; "this is the consequence of not studying foreign tongues. I cannot turn the _indigenes_ to profit. Pity, too, when they are beautiful as these are." "Signor, may I be your interpreter?" said the last comer, who had heard only the latter portion of the old man's words. "Thanks, Signor," said he; "heaven has sent you to the aid of a barbarian who was pitilessly murdering the mother tongue of Tasso. Formerly," continued he, "pantomime answered to talk with women as well as language; now, however, I must explain myself in another manner. I cannot, therefore, ask you to be the interpreter of my request of these girls!" "What, Signor, did you ask them?" said he. "Nothing, but permission to write two signs on my tablets. A habit I imported from London, a peculiar kind of statistics to introduce some variety into the tedious stories travellers spin. I indicate the region through which I pass by a single phrase or word which recalls to me what they have most agreeable to the heart, mind, or senses. See," said he, taking a rich pocket-book on which was a prince's coronet in gold, "all Italy will occupy but two pages. Florence? _Flowers and museums._ Bologna? _Hams._ Milan? _La scala._ Leghorn? _Nothing._ Rome? _Every thing. Et caetera._ I wished to write Ceprano? _kisses_: to prove that here I touched the lips of the two prettiest women of Italy." "If that is all," said the person to whom the old man spoke, "and for the purpose of advocating so useful a cause," said she, with a laugh, "I will procure you the pleasure you desire." "Indeed, Signor, I do not know how I can recompense you for such a service." "Signor, I deserve no recompense from you, as I merely advance the art of travelling, which through your exertions is about to become so attractive----" "_Signorine_," said he to the beautiful girls of Ceprano, in the pure Roman dialect; "an old man's kiss always brings prosperity to the youthful; and this, Signor," he pointed to the old man with powdered hair, "wishes you to be happy." The two young girls, with the most natural grace possible, offered their brows to the old man, who kissed them paternally as possible. "I thank you, sir," said he to his interpreter. "I am indebted solely for this chapter to your politeness, and can express my pleasure only by dedicating it to you. To do so, however, it is necessary that I should know your name----" "Write then, Ceprano, dedicated to Count Monte-Leone. But, Signor, shall not I know the name of the author of a work so interesting as that to which I have contributed?" "The name of the writer who is indebted to you for the best chapter of his book, is the Prince de Maulear."