When dinner was over a feeling of curiosity made me go into the room where Annette was dining with the Venetian girl, whose name was Marcoline. I was struck with astonishment on seeing her, for she was completely changed, not so much by the pretty dress she had on as by the contented expression of her face, which made her look quite another person. Good humour had vanquished unbecoming rage, and the gentleness born of happiness made her features breathe forth love. I could scarcely believe that this charming creature before me was the same who had dealt such a vigorous blow to my brother, a priest, and a sacred being in the eyes of the common people. They were eating, and laughing at not being able to understand each other, for Marcoline only spoke Venetian, and Annette Genoese, and the latter dialect does not resemble the former any more than Bohemian resembles Dutch. I spoke to Marcoline in her native tongue, which was mine too, and she said,-- “I seem to have suddenly passed from hell to Paradise.” “Indeed, you look like an angel.” “You called me a little devil this morning. But here is a fair angel,” said she, pointing to Annette; “we don’t see such in Venice.” “She is my treasure.” Shortly after my niece came in, and seeing me talking and laughing with the two girls began to examine the new-comer. She told me in French that she thought her perfectly beautiful, and repeating her opinion to the girl in Italian gave her a kiss. Marcoline asked her plainly in the Venetian manner who she was. “I am this gentleman’s niece, and he is taking me back to Marseilles, where my home is.” “Then you would have been my niece too, if I had married his brother. I wish I had such a pretty niece.” This pleasant rejoinder was followed by a storm of kisses given and returned with ardour which one might pronounce truly Venetian, if it were not that this would wound the feelings of the almost equally ardent Provencals. I took my niece for a sail in the bay, and after we had enjoyed one of those delicious evenings which I think can be found nowhere else--sailing on a mirror silvered by the moon, over which float the odours of the jasmine, the orange-blossom, the pomegranates, the aloes, and all the scented flowers which grow along the coasts--we returned to our lodging, and I asked Annette what had become of Marcoline. She told me that she had gone to bed early, and I went gently into her room, with no other intention than to see her asleep. The light of the candle awoke her, and she did not seem at all frightened at seeing me. I sat by the bed, and fell to making love to her, and at last made as if I would kiss her, but she resisted, and we went on talking. When Annette had put her mistress to bed, she came in and found us together. “Go to bed, my dear,” said I. “I will come to you directly.” Proud of being my mistress, she gave me a fiery kiss and went away without a word.