adieu with friendly though constrained politeness; he was profuse
in his acknowledgments of the favor I had done him by purchasing his
pictures. I waived all thanks aside, assuring him that my satisfaction
in the matter far exceeded his, and that I was proud to be the
possessor of such valuable proofs of his genius. He swallowed my
flattery as eagerly as a fish swallows bait, and we parted on excellent
terms. He watched me from his door as I walked down the hilly road with
the slow and careful step of an elderly man; once out of his sight,
however, I quickened my pace, for the tempest of conflicting sensations
within me made it difficult for me to maintain even the appearance of
composure. On entering my apartment at the hotel the first thing that
met my eyes was a large gilt osier basket, filled with fine fruit and
flowers, placed conspicuously on the center-table.

I summoned my valet. "Who sent this?" I demanded.

"Madame the Contessa Romani," replied Vincenzo with discreet gravity.
"There is a card attached, if the eccelenza will be pleased to look."

I did look. It was my wife's visiting-card, and on it was written in
her own delicate penmanship--

"To remind the conte of his promised visit to-morrow."

A sudden anger possessed me. I crumpled up the dainty glossy bit of
pasteboard and flung it aside. The mingled odors of the fruit and
flowers offended my senses.

"I care nothing for these trifles," I said, addressing Vincenzo almost
impatiently. "Take them to the little daughter of the hotel-keeper; she
is a child, she will appreciate them. Take them away at once."

Obediently Vincenzo lifted the basket and bore it out of the room. I
was relieved when its fragrance and color had vanished. I, to receive
as a gift, the product of my own garden! Half vexed, half sore at
heart, I threw myself into an easychair--anon I laughed aloud! So!
Madame commences the game early, I thought. Already paying these marked
attentions to a man she knows nothing of beyond that he is reported to
be fabulously wealthy. Gold, gold forever! What will it not do! It will
bring the proud to their knees, it will force the obstinate to servile
compliance, it will conquer aversion and prejudice. The world is a
slave to its yellow glitter, and the love of woman, that perishable
article of commerce, is ever at its command. Would you obtain a kiss
from a pair of ripe-red lips that seem the very abode of honeyed
sweetness? Pay for it then with