e quite right, comrade," he said. "It is the greatest mistake in
the world to bother about to-morrow's maccheroni."

CHAPTER V

Three days after Artois' conversation with Hermione in the Grotto of
Virgil the Marchesino Isidoro Panacci came smiling into his friend's
apartments in the Hotel Royal des Etrangers. He was smartly dressed in
the palest possible shade of gray, with a bright pink tie, pink socks,
brown shoes of the rather boat-like shape affected by many young
Neopolitans, and a round straw hat, with a small brim, that was set
slightly on the side of his curly head. In his mouth was a cigarette,
and in his buttonhole a pink carnation. He took Artois' hand with his
left hand, squeezed it affectionately, murmured "Caro Emilio," and sat
down in an easy attitude on the sofa, putting his hat and stick on a
table near by.

It was quite evident that he had come for no special reason. He had just
dropped in, as he did whenever he felt inclined, to gossip with
"Caro Emilio," and it never occurred to him that possibly he might
be interrupting an important piece of work. The Marchesino could not
realize work. He knew his friend published books. He even saw him
sometimes actually engaged in writing them, pen in hand. But he was sure
anybody would far rather sit and chatter with him, or hear him play a
valse on the piano, or a bit of the "Boheme," than bend over a table all
by himself. And Artois always welcomed him. He liked him. But it was not
only that which made him complaisant. Doro was a type, and a singularly
perfect one.

Now Artois laid down his pen, and pulled forward an arm-chair opposite
to the sofa.

"Mon Dieu, Doro! How fresh you look, like a fish just pulled out of the
sea!"

The Marchesino showed his teeth in a smile which also shone in his round
and boyish eyes.

"I have just come out of the sea. Papa and I have been bathing at
the Eldorado. We swam round the Castello until we were opposite your
windows, and sang 'Funiculi, funicula!' in the water, to serenade you.
Why didn't you hear us? Papa has a splendid voice, almost like Tamagno's
in the gramophone, when he sings the 'Addio' from 'Otello.' Of course
we kept a little out at sea. Papa is so easily recognized by his red
mustaches. But still you might have heard us."

"I did."

"Then why didn't you come unto the balcony, amico mio?"

"Because I thought you were street singers."

"Davvero? Papa would be angry. And he is in a bad temper to