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Rh street which led to the Strada, and soon stopped at a small, mean-looking shop. Taking leave of her kind companions, who seemed very reluctant to go in, Beatrice entered alone. A harsh voice, in an unfamiliar language, demanded her business. How strange does another tongue sound in our ears! Though perfectly acquainted with Italian, the question was thrice repeated before she comprehended its meaning. Glancing hurriedly around, to ascertain if they were alone, she approached the thin, miserable-looking being whose figure began to emerge from the surrounding darkness; she leant forward, and, in a whisper, pronounced the pass-word taught by her father. The old man hastily pulled down his spectacles from their sinecure office on his forehead, and looked at her with an expression of most angry amazement. "Now, the good St. Januarius help me! but it is my opinion that all the world are gone mad. Women and mischief, women and mischief—when were they ever separate?" "I shall trouble you but little," said Beatrice, her pride and her presence of mind rising together: "I am the daughter of Don Henriquez de los Zoridos: my father is here, I believe, and it is at his bidding that I have come."