a colorless old man, whose silvery
hair fell down a face nearly as white; but, as he has almost nothing to
do with the present affair, I shall merely say that, having been
compromised in the last revolution, he had been obliged to live ever
since in perfect retirement, and that he seemed to have been blanched in
this social darkness as a plant is blanched by growth in a cellar. His
enemies said that he was naturally a timid man, but they could not deny
that he had seen things to make the brave afraid, or that he had now
every reason from the police to be secret and cautious in his life. He
could hardly be called company for Tonelli, who must have found the day
intolerably long but for the visit which the notary's pretty
granddaughter contrived to pay every morning in the cheerless _mezza_.
She commonly appeared on some errand from her mother, but her chief
business seemed to be to share with Tonelli the modest feast of rumor
and hearsay which he loved to furnish forth for her, and from which
doubtless she carried back some fragments of gossip to the family
apartments. Tonelli called her, with that mingled archness and
tenderness of the Venetians, his Paronsina; and, as he had seen her grow
up from the smallest possible of Little Mistresses, there was no shyness
between them, and they were fully privileged to each other's society by
her mother. When she flitted away again, Tonelli was left to a stillness
broken only by the soft breathing of the old man in the next room, and
by the shrill discourse of his own loquacious pen, so that he was
commonly glad enough when it came five o'clock. At this hour he put on
his black coat, that shone with constant use, and his faithful silk hat,
worn down to the pasteboard with assiduous brushing, and caught up a
very jaunty cane in his hand. Then, saluting the notary, he took his way
to the little restaurant, where it was his custom to dine, and had his
tripe soup and his _risotto_, or dish of fried liver, in the austere
silence imposed by the presence of a few poor Austrian captains and
lieutenants. It was not that the Italians feared to be overheard by
these enemies; but it was good _dimostrazione_ to be silent before the
oppressor, and not let him know that they even enjoyed their dinners
well enough, under his government, to chat sociably over them. To tell
the truth, this duty was an irksome one to Tonelli, who liked far better
to dine, as he sometimes did, at a cook-shop, where he