staff was an Italian named the Principi di
Monte Bianca. He was an Arab for wandering. The tumult of battle would
bring him round the world. Rich, titled, a real noble, he was at heart
an adventurer, a word greatly abused these inglorious days. For does not
the word adventurer stand for the pioneer, the explorer, the inventor,
the soldier and the sailor? It is wrong to apply the word to the
impostor. My father was cut from the same pattern, a wild and reckless
spirit in those crowded times. The two became friends such as you and
Mr. Merrihew are. Their exploits became famous. My father was also rich
and a man of foresight. He knew that the stars and bars was a flag of
temporary endurance. All that portion of his wealth which remained in
the South he readily sacrificed with his blood. His real wealth was in
foreign securities, mines, oils, steel, steamships. When the war
terminated, the prince prevailed upon my father to return with him to
Italy. Italy was not new to my father; and as he loved the country and
spoke the language, he finally consented. He saw the shadow of the
reconstruction and dreaded it; and there were no ties of blood to hold
him in the States. Italy itself was in turmoil. _Il Re Galantuomo_, that
Piedmontese hunter, Vittorio Emanuele, wished to liberate Venice from
the grasp of Austria, to wrest temporal power from the Vatican, and to
send the French troops back to France. Well, he accomplished all these
things, and both my father and the prince were with him up to the time
he entered the Quirinal. After victory, peace. My father invested in
villas and palaces, added to his fortune through real estate in Rome,
lived in Florence a little while, and settled down to end his days in
the Venetian palace on the Grand Canal. He and the prince met daily at
Florian's and planned futures or dreamed over the noisy past.

Then my father, still young, remember, fell in love with the daughter of
a Venetian noble. It was a happy union. Shortly after the prince also
married. He was, with the exception of my father, the most lovable man I
ever knew. Brave, kindly, impetuous, honorable, witty and wise; it does
not seem possible that such a father should have such a son. Though he
covered it up with all the rare tact of a man of the world, his marital
ties were not happy like my father's.

There came a great day: a young prince was born, and the rough king
stood as his god-father. Later I added my feeble protest, at th