less to say,
he became my slave--never was monarch better served than I--the very
waiters hustled each other in a race to attend upon me, and reports of
my princely fortune, generosity, and lavish expenditure, began to flit
from mouth to month--which was the result I desired to obtain.

And now the evening of my first day in Naples came, and I, the supposed
Conte Cesare Oliva, the envied and flattered noble, took the first step
toward my vengeance. It was one of the loveliest evenings possible,
even in that lovely land--a soft breeze blew in from the sea--the sky
was pearl-like and pure as an opal, yet bright with delicate shifting
clouds of crimson and pale mauve--small, fleecy flecks of Radiance,
that looked like a shower of blossoms fallen from some far invisible
flower-land. The waters of the bay were slightly ruffled by the wind,
and curled into tender little dark-blue waves tipped with light forges
of foam. After my dinner I went out and took my way to a well-known and
popular cafe which used to be a favorite haunt of mine in the days when
I was known as Fabio Romani, Guido Ferrari was a constant habitue of
the place, and I felt that I should find him there. The brilliant
rose-white and gold saloons were crowded, and owing to the pleasant
coolness of the air there were hundreds of little tables pushed far out
into the street, at which groups of persons were seated, enjoying ices,
wine, or coffee, and congratulating each other on the agreeable news of
the steady decrease of the pestilence that had ravaged the city. I
glanced covertly yet quickly round. Yes! I was not mistaken--there was
my quondam friend, my traitorous foe, sitting at his ease, leaning
comfortably back in one chair, his feet put up on another. He was
smoking, and glancing now and then through the columns of the Paris
"Figaro." He was dressed entirely in black--a hypocritical livery, the
somber hue of which suited his fine complexion and perfectly handsome
features to admiration. On the little finger of the shapely hand that
every now and then was raised to adjust his cigar, sparkled a diamond
that gave out a myriad scintillations as it flashed in the evening
light--it was of exceptional size and brilliancy, and even at a
distance I recognized it as my own property!

So!--a love-gift, signor, or an in memoriam of the dear and valued
friend you have lost? I wondered--watching him in dark scorn the
while--then recollecting myself, I sauntered slowly