Yes--yes, I know! I tell you I married a thing as beautiful as a morning in spring-time--with a little head that seemed to droop like a flower under its weight of sunbeam hair--and eyes! ah--like those of a tiny child when it looks up and asks you for kisses.

I was absent once--I returned and found her sleeping tranquilly--yes! on the breast of a black-browed street-singer from Venice--a handsome lad enough and brave as a young lion.

He saw me and sprung at my throat--I held him down and knelt upon his chest--she woke and gazed upon us, too terrified to speak or scream--she only shivered and made a little moaning sound like that of a spoiled baby.

I looked down into her prostrate lover's eyes and smiled.

'I will not hurt you,' I said.