“Who are you, my angel?”

“I am Therese, the inn-keeper’s daughter, and this is my sister.”  There was another girl beside her, whom I had not seen, as her head was under the bolster.

“How old are you?”

“Nearly seventeen.”

“I hope I shall see you in my room to-morrow morning.”

“Have you any ladies with you?”

“No.”

“That’s a pity, as we never go to the gentlemen’s rooms.”

“Lower the coverlet a little; I can’t hear what you say.”

“It’s too cold.”

“Dear Therese, your eyes make me feel as if I were in flames.”

She put back her head at this, and I grew daring, and after sundry experiments I was more than ever charmed with her.  I caressed her in a somewhat lively manner, and drew back my hand, again apologizing for my daring, and when she let me see her face I thought I saw delight rather than anger in her eyes and on her cheeks, and I felt hopeful with regard to her.  I was just going to begin again, for I felt on fire; when a handsome chambermaid came to tell me that my room was ready and my fire lighted.

“Farewell till to-morrow,” said I to Therese, but she only answered by turning on her side to go to sleep.

I went to bed after ordering dinner for one o’clock, and I slept till noon, dreaming of Therese.  When I woke up, Costa told me that he had found out where my brother lived, and had left a note at the house.  This was my brother Jean, then about thirty, and a pupil of the famous Raphael Mengs.  This painter was then deprived of his pension on account of a war which obliged the King of Poland to live at Warsaw, as the Prussians occupied the whole electorate of Saxe.  I had not seen my brother for ten years, and I kept our meeting as a holiday.  I was sitting down to table when he came, and we embraced each other with transport.  We spent an hour in telling, he his small adventures, and I my grand ones, and he told me that I should not stay at the hotel, which was too dear, but come and live at the Chevalier Mengs’s house, which contained an empty room, where I could stay at a much cheaper rate.

“As to your table, there is a restaurant in the house where one can get a capital meal.”

“Your advice is excellent,” said I, “but I have not the courage to follow it, as I am in love with my landlord’s daughter;” and I told him what had happened the night before.

“That’s a mere nothing,” said he, laughing; “you can cultivate her acquaintance without staying in the house.”

I let myself be persuaded, and I promised to come to him the following day; and then we proceeded to take a walk about Rome.

I had many interesting memories of my last visit, and I wanted to renew my acquaintance with those who had interested me at that happy age when such impressions are so durable because they touch the heart rather than the mind; but I had to make up my mind to a good many disappointments, considering the space of time that had elapsed since I had been in Rome.