susceptibility of all German, Spanish, and Italian ladies at the mere look of a Frenchman. In short, at that period I was still very much of a Frenchman, and, besides, did not the rose tell its own tale plainly enough?
"Madam," I said in a low voice, as I picked up the rose, " you have dropped your nose-gay. ..."
But the lady had already vanished, and the window had been closed noiselessly. I did what every other man would have done in my position:
I looked for the nearest door, which was two steps from the window; I found it, and I waited to have it opened for me. Five minutes passed in a profound silence; then I coughed, then I scratched softly, but the door did not open. I examined it more carefully, hoping to find a lock or latch; to my great surprise I found it padlocked.
"The jealous lover has not gone in yet, then," I said to myself.
I picked up a small stone and threw it against the window; it hit a wooden outside shutter and fell at my feet.
"The devil!" I thought; "Roman ladies must be accustomed to lovers who carry ladders in their pockets; no one told me of the custom." I waited a few more moments, but fruitlessly.
