own on the stiffening clay before me. The rest of the party came up;
no one spoke for a minute, all surveyed the dead body in silence. At
last Captain Freccia said, softly in half-inquiring accents:

"He is gone, I suppose?"

I bowed. I could not trust myself to speak.

"He made you his apology?" asked the marquis.

I bowed again. There was another pause of heavy silence. The rigid
smiling face of the corpse seemed to mock all speech. The doctor
stooped and skillfully closed those glazed appealing eyes--and then it
seemed to me as though Guido merely slept and that a touch would waken
him. The Marquis D'Avencourt took me by the arm and whispered, "Get
back to the city, amico, and take some wine--you look positively ill!
Your evident regret does you credit, considering the circumstances--but
what would you?--it was a fair fight. Consider the provocation you had!
I should advise you to leave Naples for a couple of weeks--by that time
the affair will be forgotten. I know how these things are
managed--leave it all to me."

I thanked him and shook his hand cordially and turned to depart.
Vincenzo was in waiting with the carriage. Once I looked back, as with
slow steps I left the field; a golden radiance illumined the sky just
above the stark figure stretched so straightly on the sward; while
almost from the very side of that pulseless heart a little bird rose
from its nest among the grasses and soared into the heavens, singing
rapturously as it flew into the warmth and glory of the living,
breathing day.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Entering the fiacre, I drove in it a very little way toward the city. I
bade the driver stop at the corner of the winding road that led to the
Villa Romani, and there I alighted. I ordered Vincenzo to go on to the
hotel and send from thence my own carriage and horses up to the villa
gates, where I would wait for it. I also bade him pack my portmanteau
in readiness for my departure that evening, as I proposed going to
Avellino, among the mountains, for a few days. He heard my commands in
silence and evident embarrassment. Finally he said:

"Do I also travel with the eccellenza?"

"Why, no!" I answered with a forced sad smile. "Do you not see, amico,
that I am heavy-hearted, and melancholy men are best left to
themselves. Besides--remember the carnival--I told you you were free to
indulge in its merriment, and shall I not deprive you of your pleasure?
No, Vincenzo; stay and enjoy yourself, an