es both bitter and sweet. Ah! what a proud fellow he was!"

"Fabio was also very proud," chimed in my wife's sweet voice. "Very
cold and haughty."

Little liar! How dared she utter this libel on my memory! Haughty, I
might have been to others, but never to her--and coldness was no part
of my nature. Would that it were! Would that I had been a pillar of
ice, incapable of thawing in the sunlight of her witching smile! Had
she forgotten what a slave I was to her? what a poor, adoring,
passionate fool I became under the influence of her hypocritical
caresses! I thought this to myself, but I answered aloud:

"Indeed! I am surprised to hear that. The Romani hauteur had ever to my
mind something genial and yielding about it--I know my friend was
always most gentle to his dependents."

The butler here coughed apologetically behind his hand--an old trick of
his, and one which signified his intense desire to speak.

Ferrari laughed, as he held out his glass for more wine.

"Here is old Giacomo," he said, nodding to him lightly. "He remembers
both the Romanis--ask him HIS opinion of Fabio--he worshiped his
master."

I turned to my servant, and with a benignant air addressed him:

"Your face is not familiar to me, my friend," I said. "Perhaps you were
not here when I visited the elder Count Romani?"

"No, eccellenza," replied Giacomo, rubbing his withered hands nervously
together, and speaking with a sort of suppressed eagerness, "I came
into my lord's service only a year before the countess died--I mean the
mother of the young count."

"Ah! then I missed making your acquaintance," I said, kindly, pitying
the poor old fellow, as I noticed how his lips trembled, and how
altogether broken he looked. "You knew the last count from childhood,
then?"

"I did, eccellenza!" And his bleared eyes roved over me with a sort of
alarmed inquiry.

"You loved him well?" I said, composedly, observing him with
embarrassment.

"Eccellenza, I never wish to serve a better master. He was goodness
itself--a fine, handsome, generous lad--the saints have his soul in
their keeping! Though sometimes I cannot believe he is dead--my old
heart almost broke when I heard it. I have never been the same
since--my lady will tell you so--she is often displeased with me."

And he looked wistfully at her; there was a note of pleading in his
hesitating accents. My wife's delicate brows drew together in a frown,
a frown that I had once thought came from