I stared. "What is the matter with you, Belviso?" I asked him. "What
would you do if you were, or were not, something which you are, or are
not? Riddles, riddles, my dear." I was sorry he had seen me in such a
rage, and laid a kindly arm upon his drooped shoulders. But Belviso
sprang away.

"Don't touch me--do not touch me," he said, panting. "You little know--
you cannot guess--and you never shall! What! shall I prove such an
ingrate? You have befriended me, lifted me out of the mud. I have a soul
now, it is worth saving. Virginia, that savage, fine girl, is not the
only servant in the world. No, Mother Diana, we have hearts too in the
Veneto----" He swept the storm from his eyes and calmed himself by the
gesture. "Don Francis," he said, "let me leave you at this moment. I
will find your Virginia--that fine girl. Trust me, leave all to me. I
know Tuscany and the Tuscans. I will give her to you, never fear. In six
weeks from now I will have her snug in Lucca. There you shall find her
if you still want her, and if you do not----"

"If I do not," I said, "you may blot the name of Francis Strelley from
the Book of Life and Judgment. God bless you, Belviso, dear friend. Your
words convince me. Go in peace. Take money, take what you choose--my
love, my gratitude---"

"I choose nothing but your confidence, and a kiss of your noble hand,"
said Belviso.

"You shall grasp, not kiss, my hand," I told him. "You are a man, or
will be one, as I am. Let us love, trust, meet, part, as men."

I held out my hand, he took it, pressed it, seemed unable to let it go.