such matters.
We are not prudent. Unlike the calm blood of Englishmen, ours rushes
swiftly through our veins--it is warm as wine and sunlight, and needs
no fictitious stimulant. We love, we desire, we possess; and then? We
tire, you say? These southern races are so fickle! All wrong--we are
less tired than you deem. And do not Englishmen tire? Have they no
secret ennui at times when sitting in the chimney nook of "home, sweet
home," with their fat wives and ever-spreading families? Truly, yes!
But they are too cautious to say so.

I need not relate the story of my courtship--it was brief and sweet as
a song sung perfectly. There were no obstacles. The girl I sought was
the only daughter of a ruined Florentine noble of dissolute character,
who gained a bare subsistence by frequenting the gaming-tables. His
child had been brought up in a convent renowned for strict
discipline--she knew nothing of the world. She was, he assured me, with
maudlin tears in his eyes, "as innocent as a flower on the altar of the
Madonna." I believed him--for what could this lovely, youthful,
low-voiced maiden know of even the shadow of evil? I was eager to
gather so fair a lily for my own proud wearing--and her father gladly
gave her to me, no doubt inwardly congratulating himself on the wealthy
match that had fallen to the lot of his dowerless daughter.

We were married at the end of June, and Guido Ferrari graced our bridal
with his handsome and gallant presence.

"By the body of Bacchus!" he exclaimed to me when the nuptial ceremony
was over, "thou hast profited by my teaching, Fabio! A quiet rogue is
often most cunning! Thou hast rifled the casket of Venus, and stolen
her fairest jewel--thou hast secured the loveliest maiden in the two
Sicilies!"

I pressed his hand, and a touch of remorse stole over me, for he was no
longer first in my affection. Almost I regretted it--yes, on my very
wedding-morn I looked back to the old days--old now though so
recent--and sighed to think they were ended. I glanced at Nina, my
wife. It was enough! Her beauty dazzled and overcame me. The melting
languor of her large limpid eyes stole into my veins--I forgot all but
her. I was in that high delirium of passion in which love, and love
only, seems the keynote of creation. I touched the topmost peak of the
height of joy--the days were feasts of fairy-land, the nights dreams of
rapture! No; I never tired! My wife's beauty never palled upon me; she
grew fai