h
your sentiments! Fancy the butcher Abel piling up his reeking carcasses
and setting them on fire, while on the other side stood Cain the
green-grocer frizzling his cabbages, turnips, carrots, and other
vegetable matter! What a spectacle! The gods of Olympus would have
sickened at it! However, the Jewish Deity, or rather, the well-fed
priest who represented him, showed his good taste in the matter; I
myself prefer the smell of roast meat to the rather disagreeable odor
of scorching vegetables!"

We laughed--and at that moment the door was thrown open, and the
head-waiter announced in solemn tones befitting his dignity--

"Le diner de Monsieur le Conte est servi!"

I at once led the way to the banqueting-room--my guests followed gayly,
talking and jesting among themselves. They were all in high good humor,
none of them had as yet noticed the fatal blank caused by the absence
of the brothers Respetti. I had--for the number of my guests was now
thirteen instead of fifteen. Thirteen at table! I wondered if any of
the company were superstitious? Ferrari was not, I knew--unless his
nerves had been latterly shaken by witnessing the death of his uncle.
At any rate, I resolved to say nothing that could attract the attention
of my guests to the ill-omened circumstance; if any one should notice
it, it would be easy to make light of it and of all similar
superstitions. I myself was the one most affected by it--it had for me
a curious and fatal significance. I was so occupied with the
consideration of it that I scarcely attended to the words addressed to
me by the Duke di Marina, who, walking beside me, seemed disposed to
converse with more familiarity than was his usual custom. We reached
the door of the dining-room; which at our approach was thrown wide
open, and delicious strains of music met our ears as we entered. Low
murmurs of astonishment and admiration broke from all the gentlemen as
they viewed the sumptuous scene before them. I pretended not to hear
their eulogies, as I took my seat at the head of the table, with Guido
Ferrari on my right and the Duke di Manna on my left. The music sounded
louder and more triumphant, and while all the company were seating
themselves in the places assigned to them, a choir of young fresh
voices broke forth into a Neapolitan "madrigale"--which as far as I can
translate it ran as follows:

"Welcome the festal hour!
Pour the red wine into cups of gold!
Health to the men who a