How lucky that Dante should also have lost his way, six hundred and twenty-four years ago! “In a word,” Mr. Cardan went on, “_ho perso la mia strada_—though I have my doubts whether that’s very idiomatic. _Forse potrebbero darmi qualche indicazione._” In the presence of the strangers and at the sound of his own voice conversing, all Mr. Cardan’s depression had vanished. He was delighted by the fantastic turn he had managed to give the conversation at its inception. Perhaps with a little ingenuity he would be able to find an excuse for treating them to a little Leopardi. It was so amusing to astonish the natives. The two silhouettes, meanwhile, had halted at a little distance. When Mr. Cardan had finished his macaronic self-introduction, the taller of them answered in a harsh and, for a man’s, a shrill voice: “There’s no need to talk Italian. We’re English.” “I’m enchanted to hear it,” Mr. Cardan protested. And he explained at length and in his mother tongue what had happened to him. It occurred to him, at the same time, that this was a very odd place to find a couple of English tourists. The harsh voice spoke again. “There’s a path to Massarosa through the fields,” it said. “And there’s another, in the opposite direction, that joins the Viareggio road. But they’re not very easy to find in the dark, and there are a lot of ditches.” “One can but perish in the attempt,” said Mr. Cardan gallantly. This time it was the woman who spoke. “I think it would be better,” she said, “if you slept at our house for the night. You’ll never find the way. I almost tumbled into the ditch myself just now.” She laughed shrilly and more loudly, Mr. Cardan thought, at greater length, than was necessary. “But have we room?” asked the man in a tone which showed that he was very reluctant to receive a guest. “But you know we’ve got room,” the feminine voice answered in a tone of child-like astonishment. “It’s rough, though.” “That doesn’t matter in the least,” Mr. Cardan assured her. “I’m most grateful to you for your offer,” he added, making haste to accept the invitation before the man could take it back. He had no desire to go wandering at night among these ditches. Moreover, the prospect of having company, and odd company, he guessed, was alluring. “Most grateful,” he repeated. “Well, if you think there’s room,” said the man grudgingly. “Of course there is,” the feminine voice replied, and laughed again. “Isn’t it six spare rooms that we’ve got? or is it seven? Come with us, Mr. ... Mr. ...” “Cardan.” “... Mr. Cardan. We’re going straight home. Such fun,” she added and repeated her excessive laughter.