ou wish to say, and go," said Nino, roughly.

"Certainly. And whenever I have met with such an instance I have done
my very utmost to reduce it to the common level, and to prove to
myself that no such thing really exists. I find it a dangerous thing,
however; for an old man in love is likely to exhibit precisely the
agreeable and striking peculiarities you have so aptly designated."
There was something so odd about his manner and about the things he
said that Nino was silent, and allowed him to proceed.

"The fact is," he continued, "that love is a very rare thing,
nowadays, and is so very generally an abominable sham that I have
often amused myself by diabolically devising plans for its
destruction. On this occasion I very nearly came to grief myself. The
same thing happened to me some time ago--about forty years, I should
say,--and I perceive that it has not been forgotten. It may amuse you
to look at this paper, which I chance to have with me. Good-morning. I
leave for St. Petersburg at once."

"I believe you are really the Wandering Jew!" cried Nino, as Benoni
left the room.

"His name was certainly Ahasuerus," Benoni replied from the outer
door. "But it may be a coincidence, after all. Good-day." He was gone.

I was the first to take up the paper he had thrown upon a chair. There
was a passage marked with a red pencil. I read it aloud:--

"... Baron Benoni, the wealthy banker of St. Petersburg, who was many
years ago an inmate of a private lunatic asylum in Paris, is reported
to be dangerously insane in Rome." That was all. The paper was the
_Paris Figaro_.

"Merciful Heavens!" exclaimed Hedwig, "and I was shut up with that
madman in Fillettino!" Nino was already by her side, and in his strong
arms she forgot Benoni, and Fillettino, and all her troubles. We were
all silent for some time. At last Nino spoke.

"Is it true that the count was here this morning?" he asked, in a
subdued voice, for the extraordinary visit and its sequel had made him
grave.

"Quite true," I said. "He was here a long time. I would not spoil your
pleasure by telling you of it, when you first came."

"What did he--what did my father say?" asked Hedwig, presently.

"My dear children," I answered, thinking I might well call them so,
"he said a great many unpleasant things, so that I offered to fight
him if he said any more." At this they both laid hold of me and began
to caress me; and one smoothed my hair, and the other embraced m