re. You seem to have changed
your mind, of late."

"Not in the least. I distinguish between being married and taking a
wife, that is all."

"Rather a fine distinction."

"The only difference between a prisoner and his gaoler is that they are
on opposite sides of the same wall. Take some more wine. We will drink
to the man on the outside."

"May you never be inside," said Orsino.

Spicca emptied his glass and looked at him, as he set it down again.

"May you never know what it is to have been inside," he said.

"You speak as though you had some experience."

"Yes, I have--through an acquaintance of mine."

"That is the most agreeable way of gaining experience."

"Yes," answered Spicca with a ghastly smile. "Perhaps I may tell you the
story some day. You may profit by it. It ended rather dramatically--so
far as it can be said to have ended at all. But we will not speak of it
just now. Here is another dish of poison--do you call that thing a fish,
Checco? Ah--yes. I perceive that you are right. The fact is apparent at
a great distance. Take it away. We are all mortal, Checco, but we do not
like to be reminded of it so very forcibly. Give me a tomato and some
vinegar."

"And the birds, Signore? Do you not want them any more?"

"The birds--yes, I had forgotten. And another flask of wine, Checco."

"It is not empty yet, Signore," observed the waiter lifting the
rush-covered bottle and shaking it a little.

Spicca silently poured out two glasses and handed him the empty flask.
He seemed to be very thirsty. Presently he got his birds. They proved
eatable, for quails are to be had all through the summer in Italy, and
he began to eat in silence. Orsino watched him with some curiosity
wondering whether the quantity of wine he drank would not ultimately
produce some effect. As yet, however, none was visible; his cadaverous
face was as pale and quiet as ever, and his sunken eyes had their usual
expression.

"And how does your business go on, Orsino?" he asked, after a long
silence.

Orsino answered him willingly enough and gave him some account of his
doings. He grew somewhat enthusiastic as he compared his present busy
life with his former idleness.

"I like the way you did it, in spite of everybody's advice," said
Spicca, kindly. "A man who can jump through the paper ring of Roman
prejudice without stumbling must be nimble and have good legs. So
nobody gave you a word of encouragement?"

"Only one person, a