"You will see him in half an hour, and he will be glad to present his respects to you." "I should not at all care for it myself, madam; there are old quarrels between us which I do not want to renew, so, madam, farewell." "No, no, don't go yet, sit down." "Pardon me." "Irene, don't let the gentleman go." At these words Irene ran and barred the way--not like a fierce mastiff, but like an angel, entreating me to stay with that mingled look of innocence, fear, and hope, of which girls know the effect so well. I felt I could not go. "Let me through, fair Irene," said I, "we may see each other somewhere else." "Pray do not go before you have seen my father:" The words were spoken so tenderly that our lips met. Irene was victorious. How can one resist a pretty girl who implores with a kiss? I took a chair, and Irene, proud of her victory, sat on my knee and covered me with kisses. I took it into my head to task the countess where and when Irene was born. "At Mantua," said she, "three months after I left Venice." "And when did you leave Venice?" "Six months after I met you." "That is a curious coincidence, and if we had been tenderly acquainted you might say that Irene was my daughter, and I should believe you, and think that my affection for her was purely paternal." "Your memory is not very good, sir, I wonder at that." "I may tell you, that I never forget certain things, But I guess your meaning. You want me to subdue my liking for Irene. I am willing to do so, but she will be the loser." This conversation had silenced Irene, but she soon took courage, and said she was like me. "No, no," I answered, "if you were like me you would not be so pretty." "I don't think so; I think you are very handsome." "You flatter me." "Stay to dinner with us." "No, if I stayed I might fall in love with you, and that would be a pity, as your mother says I am your father." "I was joking," said the countess, "you may love Irene with a good conscience." "We will see what can be done." When Irene had left the room, I said to the mother,-- "I like your daughter, but I won't be long sighing for her, and you mustn't take me for a dupe." "Speak to my husband about it. We are very poor, and we want to go to Cremona." "I suppose Irene has a lover?" "No." "But she has had one, of course?" "Never anything serious." "I can't believe it." "It's true, nevertheless. Irene is intact." Just then Irene came in with her father, who had aged to such an extent that I should never have known him in the street. He came up to me and embraced me, begging me to forget the past. "It is only you," he added, "who can furnish me with funds to go to Cremona.