window with her arm extended in my direction. We Frenchmen are regarded with very kindly eyes in foreign lands, and our fathers, who vanquished all Europe, have comforted us with traditions very flattering to our national vanity. It was my pious belief that every German, Spanish or Italian lady would kindle up like so much tinder at the mere sight of a Frenchman. To tell the truth, in those days I was pretty much like the rest of my countrymen, and then, besides, had not the rose spoken clearly enough?
"Madame," said I, in a low voice, picking up the rose, "you have dropped your bouquet."
But the woman had already disappeared and the window had closed without making the slightest noise. I did what any one else in my place would have done. I sought the nearest door; it was only two steps from the window, and having found it I waited for someone to come and open it for me. Five minutes passed in deep silence. Then I coughed, then I scratched gently with my finger nails upon the wood, but the door did not open. I examined it more closely, hoping to discover a key or a latch; to my great surprise I found that it was fastened with a padlock.
"The jealous husband is not come home yet," I said to myself.
I picked up a small pebble and threw it against the window; it struck a wooden shutter and fell back at my feet.
"The deuce!" I thought, "do the Roman ladies imagine that folks go about carrying ladders in their pockets? That is a custom that I never heard speak of."
I waited several minutes longer with equally fruit-
