The steward knew his master too well to remonstrate.  He took his hat and cane, and went out.  It was useless to look through the ranks of rejected volunteers again; there was not the slightest hope in that quarter.  The only chance left was to call on all his friends in Pisa who had daughters out at service, and to try what he could accomplish, by bribery and persuasion, that way.

After a whole day occupied in solicitations, promises, and patient smoothing down of innumerable difficulties, the result of his efforts in the new direction was an accession of six more shepherdesses.  This brought him on bravely from twenty-three to twenty-nine, and left him, at last, with only one anxiety—­where was he now to find shepherdess number thirty?

He mentally asked himself that important question, as he entered a shady by-street in the neighborhood of the Campo Santo, on his way back to the Melani Palace.  Sauntering slowly along in the middle of the road, and fanning himself with his handkerchief after the oppressive exertions of the day, he passed a young girl who was standing at the street door of one of the houses, apparently waiting for somebody to join her before she entered the building.

“Body of Bacchus!” exclaimed the steward (using one of those old Pagan ejaculations which survive in Italy even to the present day), “there stands the prettiest girl I have seen yet.  If she would only be shepherdess number thirty, I should go home to supper with my mind at ease.  I’ll ask her, at any rate.  Nothing can be lost by asking, and everything may be gained.  Stop, my dear,” he continued, seeing the girl turn to go into the house as he approached her.  “Don’t be afraid of me.  I am steward to the Marquis Melani, and well known in Pisa as an eminently respectable man.  I have something to say to you which may be greatly for your benefit.  Don’t look surprised; I am coming to the point at once.  Do you want to earn a little money? honestly, of course.  You don’t look as if you were very rich, child.”

“I am very poor, and very much in want of some honest work to do,” answered the girl, sadly.

“Then we shall suit each other to a nicety; for I have work of the pleasantest kind to give you, and plenty of money to pay for it.  But before we say anything more about that, suppose you tell me first something about yourself—­who you are, and so forth.  You know who I am already.”

“I am only a poor work-girl, and my name is Nanina.  I have nothing more, sir, to say about myself than that.”

“Do you belong to Pisa?”

“Yes, sir—­at least, I did.  But I have been away for some time.  I was a year at Florence, employed in needlework.”

“All by yourself?”

“No, sir, with my little sister.  I was waiting for her when you came up.”

“Have you never done anything else but needlework? never been out at service?”

“Yes, sir.  For the last eight months I have had a situation to wait on a lady at Florence, and my sister (who is turned eleven, sir, and can make herself very useful) was allowed to help in the nursery.”