"What has happened? Can I believe my eyes? Am I moon-mad? Have all the devils possessed me? Are you Peronella? Am I Cesano? Is he your lover?" He buried his face in his hands. Peronella would not answer the poor fellow. "What has happened? Has that pink foreigner bewitched your heart? Are you tormenting me or are you tired of me?" he cried. "Not tired of you," said the girl, growing a little white but not relaxing her grip of Norman, "but very fond of him." "Fond of that person? Who or what is he? I have not the honour...." "He is an English lord who came here this afternoon to live here." "An English lord in this mud-house?" "It is good enough for him where I am." Meanwhile Norman was feeling awkward enough. The girl, it seemed, had taken possession of him almost without asking him, though doubtless it was his own fault, for kissing lonely nymphs all in the morning of the world. There she was publicly avowing him, and making him feel very mean and foolish before her honest, if extravagant, lover, who now went on with a sort of portentous dignity: "I am sorry. Forgive me, Peronella. I am confused. I cannot understand what has happened. You cannot give me up after all these months for some one you do not know at all. It is absurd. It could not be. It is fantastic. It is unreal." "I did not know I had ever taken you," replied Peronella. "What have we ever done but go out for walks like friends?" "But I was going to give up everything for you. Do not blast my youth." "It has been blasted before, Cesano." "Not like this time. I cannot sleep. Come, take away your arm, last of creatures. I cannot bear it. I will go mad. I will beat you. As for you, sir" (to Norman, in a deep bass), "I will deal with you after with cold steel!" "Come, now," said Peronella, smoothly. "I am very sorry indeed. One cannot help the hand of Fate." "Hand of Fate," said Cesano, in justifiable wrath. "It has driven many women to hell, that hand of Fate. Do you kiss a new man every week? Have you a price? Was I not honourable? Did we not talk of marriage? Did I not pick you coral from the sea--violets from the meadows?" "Don't be poetic, Cesano, or I shall cry." "Cry! Can you shed tears? I have shed many for you at night beneath your window. But you have no heart!" "Why trouble then about so stony a young girl?" The affected languor of her tone irritated Norman almost as much as it was intended to irritate Cesano, but he could not well desert her now, and stood his ground. Cesano sobbed, put one hand on his breast and the other on a tableknife with which he made the most threatening gestures at Norman. The latter, who understood the hand-play more than the rhetoric, could not help laughing at the grotesque but unfortunate Alsandrian. "Ah! you laugh now!" said Cesano, ferociously. "Some day I will make you smile at the back of your head." And turning on his heel, to Norman's surprise, he went softly and quietly out of the room.