until this highly
accomplished servant of theirs had accompanied them to the dining-room,
to push their chairs under them as they sat down, and to assure himself
that the table-cloth was spotless and the glasses not only clean but
polished. Then he left them to their dinner, which, as he well knew,
would last at least two hours.

The dining-room was spacious and airy, having two large grated windows
that overlooked the square, and there were several small tables besides
the long one at which the 'ordinary' was served every day at noon. The
Bravi were now the only guests, and were installed near one of the
windows, for the day was warm. From the middle of the vaulted ceiling a
huge bunch of fresh green ferns was hung, not as a substitute for
flowers, but to attract and stupefy the stray flies that found their way
in from the kitchen, even at that early season of the year.

Trombin was the first to speak, after the preliminary appetisers had
been placed on the table and the glasses had been filled.

'The situation strikes me as amusing,' he said. 'I have always felt that
destiny possesses a sense of humour which makes the wittiest French
comedy lugubrious by comparison.'

'You are easily amused, my friend,' answered Gambardella gloomily, and
picking out a very thin slice of Bologna sausage for his next mouthful.
'We were looking forward to a pleasant journey to Florence or Rome, our
expenses being liberally paid; instead, we find that all the people we
wish to meet are here, barely two days from Venice, and as if that were
not enough, they must needs melt away like snow in the street and
disappear underground, so that we must turn sbirri to find them. I see
no sense of humour in the destiny that brings about such silly
circumstances.'

'You were always a melancholic soul,' Trombin observed. 'As for me, I
cannot but laugh when I think that we shall have to rescue our man from
the danger of being hanged as a counterfeiter, in order that we may
conveniently cut his throat.'

Having expressed his view of the case Trombin swallowed half a glass of
wine at a draught, while his companion sipped a few drops from his.

'I do not call it melancholy to like good things and to wish that they
may last as long as possible,' Gambardella said, rather sourly. 'What
could have been more delightful than to ride all the way to Rome or
Naples in this way, travelling only on fine days, and stopping where one
can get a bottle of old Bur