ented to define the real cynic--the man who
neither enjoys life himself nor will allow other people to enjoy it. I am
not such a man. I hope you, for instance, will enjoy everything that
comes in your way."

"Even the cold meat after the dessert which you spoke of just now?" asked
Donna Tullia. "Thank you--I will try; perhaps you can help me."

"My son despised it," said Saracinesca. "He is gone in search of fresh
pastures of sweets."

"Leaving you behind."

"Somebody once said that the wisest thing a son could do was to get rid
of his father as soon as possible--"

"Then Don Giovanni is a wise man," returned Donna Tullia.

"Perhaps. However, he asked me to accompany him."

"You refused?"

"Of course. Such expeditions are good enough for boys. I dislike
Florence, I am not especially fond of Paris, and I detest the North Pole.
I suppose you have seen from the papers that he is going in that
direction? It is like him, he hankers after originality, I suppose. Being
born in the south, he naturally goes to the extreme north."

"He will write you very interesting letters, I should think," remarked
Donna Tullia. "Is he a good correspondent?"

"Remarkably, for he never gives one any trouble. He sends his address
from time to time, and draws frequently on his banker. His letters are
not so full of interest as might be thought, as they rarely extend over
five lines; but on the other hand it does not take long to read them,
which is a blessing."

"You seem to be an affectionate parent," said Donna Tullia, with a laugh.

"If you measure affection by the cost of postage-stamps, you have a right
to be sarcastic. If you measure it in any other way, you are wrong. I
could not help loving any one so like myself as my son. It would show a
detestable lack of appreciation of my own gifts."

"I do not think Don Giovanni so very like you," said Donna Tullia,
thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you do not know him so well as I do," remarked the Prince.
"Where do you see the greatest difference?"

"I think you talk better, and I think you are more--not exactly more
honest, perhaps, but more straightforward."

"I do not agree with you," said old Saracinesca, quickly. "There is no
one alive who can say they ever knew Giovanni approach in the most
innocent way to a distortion of truth. I daresay you have discovered,
however, that he is reticent; he can hold his tongue; he is no chatterer,
no parrot, my son."

"Indeed he is not," answere