I stretch out my arms--I clasp her!--bah! it is this good rogue of an innkeeper who holds me in his musty embrace! I struggle with him fiercely--pantingly.
"Fool!" I shriek in his ear.

"Let me go to her--her lips pout for kisses--let me go!" Another man advances and seizes me; he and the innkeeper force me back on the pillows--they overcome me, and the utter incapacity of a terrible exhaustion steals away my strength.

I cease to struggle.
Pietro and his assistant look down upon me.
"E morto!" they whisper one to the other.
I hear them and smile.

Dead?
Not I! The scorching sunlight streams through the open door of the inn--the thirsty flies buzz with persistent loudness--some voices are singing "La Fata di Amalfi"-- I can distinguish the words-- "Chiagnaro la mia sventura Si non tuorne chiu, Rosella! Tu d' Amalfi la chiu bella, Tu na Fata si pe me! Viene, vie, regina mie, Viene curre a chisto core, Ca non c'e non c'e sciore, Non c'e Stella comm'a te!" [Footnote: A popular song in the Neapolitan dialect.] That is a true song, Nina mia! "Non c'e Stella comm' a te!" What did Guido say?
"Purer than the flawless diamond--unapproachable as the furthest star!" That foolish Pietro still polishes his wine-bottles.

I see him--his meek round face is greasy with heat and dust; but I cannot understand how he comes to be here at all, for I am on the banks of a tropical river where huge palms grow wild, and drowsy alligators lie asleep in the sun.