"Very well, stay there, hold on tight; I will come out through the window and help you to go back." But it was too late: the vine suddenly gave way; Mila shrieked, and if Magnani had not grasped her with both hands and seated her on the edge of the window, crushing his dear convolvuli a little in the act, she would have fallen. "Now," he said, "my imprudent young lady, you cannot go out any other way than through my room. Come in quickly, for I hear steps under the gallery, and no one has seen you yet." He drew her hastily into his poor room, and she walked to the door as swiftly as she had come in through the window; but the door was ajar, and as she looked out she saw that the door of the cobbler's room on the same landing was wide open, and that the cobbler himself, the most evil-tongued of all the neighbors, was sitting there, singing over his work, so that it was impossible to go out without exposing herself to his unpleasant witticisms. [Footnote 7: That is to say, had called him _you_ instead of _thou_.] XXXIII THE RING "There!" said the girl, closing the door with a touch of vexation, "the evil spirit has a grudge against me! Just because I took it into my head to water a poor flower, I am in danger of being torn to pieces by evil tongues and scolded by my father--and above all by Michel, who is such a tease with me!" "Dear child," said Magnani, "people would not dare to speak of you as they speak of others; you are so different from all the other girls in our suburb! Everybody loves you and respects you as no one of them will ever be loved and respected. Besides, as it is on my account--or rather on account of my poor flowers--that you have run this risk, you need not have the slightest fear. Woe to the man who dares to speak ill of you!" "All the same, I shall never dare to pass that horrible cobbler." "You are quite right. It is his breakfast time. His wife has called him twice already. He will go directly. Wait here a few seconds, perhaps a minute--especially as I should like to say a word to you, Mila." "What have you to say to me, pray?" she replied, taking a chair which he offered her, and which was the only one in the room. She was trembling with violent inward excitement, but she affected a careless air which her position seemed to impose upon her. It was not that she was afraid of Magnani; she knew him too well to fear that he would take advantage of the tête-à-tête; but she feared, more than ever before, that he would guess the secret of her heart. "I don't know just what I have to say to you," rejoined Magnani. "It seemed to me that it would be for you to say something to me." "I!" cried proud little Mila, rising. "I have nothing to say to you, I give you my word, Signor Magnani!"