“As it turned out, in the worst possible way.  First, of course, I made sure of interesting him in me by telling him that I had known Nanina.  So far it was all well enough.  My next object was to persuade him that she could never have gone away if she had truly loved him alone; and that he must have had some fortunate rival in her own rank of life, to whom she had sacrificed him, after gratifying her vanity for a time by bringing a young nobleman to her feet.  I had, as you will easily imagine, difficulty enough in making him take this view of Nanina’s flight.  His pride and his love for the girl were both concerned in refusing to admit the truth of my suggestion.  At last I succeeded.  I brought him to that state of ruffled vanity and fretful self-assertion in which it is easiest to work on a man’s feelings—­in which a man’s own wounded pride makes the best pitfall to catch him in.  I brought him, I say, to that state, and then she stepped in and profited by what I had done.  Is it wonderful now that I rejoice in her disappointments—­that I should be glad to hear any ill thing of her that any one could tell me?”

“But how did she first get the advantage of you?”

“If I had found out, she would never have succeeded where I failed.  All I know is, that she had more opportunities of seeing him than I, and that she used them cunningly enough even to deceive me.  While I thought I was gaining ground with Fabio, I was actually losing it.  My first suspicions were excited by a change in Luca Lomi’s conduct toward me.  He grew cold, neglectful—­at last absolutely rude.  I was resolved not to see this; but accident soon obliged me to open my eyes.  One morning I heard Fabio and Maddalena talking of me when they imagined I had left the studio.  I can’t repeat their words, especially here.  The blood flies into my head, and the cold catches me at the heart, when I only think of them.  It will be enough if I tell you that he laughed at me, and that she—­”

“Hush! not so loud.  There are other people lodging in the house.  Never mind about telling me what you heard; it only irritates you to no purpose.  I can guess that they had discovered—­”

“Through her—­remember, all through her!”

“Yes, yes, I understand.  They had discovered a great deal more than you ever intended them to know, and all through her.”

“But for the priest, Virginie, I should have been openly insulted and driven from their doors.  He had insisted on their behaving with decent civility toward me.  They said that he was afraid of me, and laughed at the notion of his trying to make them afraid too.  That was the last thing I heard.  The fury I was in, and the necessity of keeping it down, almost suffocated me.  I turned round to leave the place forever, when, who should I see, standing close behind me, but Father Rocco.  He must have discovered in my face that I knew all, but he took no notice of it.  He only asked, in his usual quiet, polite way, if I was looking for anything I had lost, and if he could help me.  I managed to thank him, and to get to the door.  He opened it for me respectfully, and bowed—­he treated me like a lady to the last!  It was evening when I left the studio in that way.  The next morning I threw up my situation, and turned my back on Pisa.  Now you know everything.”