It mattered not to him that the picture was
very old, that it had been painted by Giorgio Barbarelli centuries
before his "Maria" could have lived; he simply declares: "Il est
vraiment d une ressemblance admirable, ressemblant jusqu'au silence de
la mort!"

Such likenesses are common enough, and my wife, though my resemblance
to myself (!) troubled her a little, was very far from imagining the
real truth of the matter, as indeed how should she? What woman,
believing and knowing, as far as anything can be known, her husband to
be dead and fast buried, is likely to accept even the idea of his
possible escape from the tomb! Not one!--else the disconsolate widows
would indeed have reason to be more inconsolable than they appear!

When I left her that morning I found Andrea Luziani waiting for me at
my hotel. He was seated in the outer entrance hall; I bade him follow
me into my private salon. He did so. Abashed at the magnificence of the
apartment, he paused at the doorway, and stood, red cap in hand,
hesitating, though with an amiable smile on his sunburned merry
countenance.

"Come in, amico," I said, with an inviting gesture, "and sit down. All
this tawdry show of velvet and gilding must seem common to your eyes,
that have rested so long on the sparkling pomp of the foaming waves,
the glorious blue curtain of the sky, and the sheeny white of the sails
of the 'Laura' gleaming in the gold of the sun. Would I could live such
a life as yours, Andrea!--there is nothing better under the width of
heaven."

The poetical temperament of the Sicilian was caught and fired by my
words. He at once forgot the splendid appurtenances of wealth and the
costly luxuries that surrounded him; he advanced without embarrassment,
and seated himself on a velvet and gold chair with as much ease as
though it were a coil of rough rope on board the "Laura."

"You say truly, eccellenza," he said, with a gleam of his white teeth
through his jet-black mustache, while his warm southern eyes flashed
fire, "there is nothing sweeter than the life of the marinaro. And
truly there are many who say to me, 'Ah, ah! Andrea! buon amico, the
time comes when you will wed, and the home where the wife and children
sit will seem a better thing to you than the caprice of the wind and
waves.' But I--see you!--I know otherwise. The woman I wed must love
the sea; she must have the fearless eyes that can look God's storms in
the face--her tender words must ring out a