"Tropp' onore, signora!" I answered, bowing gallantly, as I at once resumed my rightful place at my own table, Ferrari placing himself on my right hand, Nina on my left. The butler, my father's servant and mine, stood as of old behind my chair, and I noticed that each time he supplied me with wine he eyed me with a certain timid curiosity--but I knew I had a singular and conspicuous appearance, which easily accounted for his inquisitiveness. Opposite to where I sat, hung my father's portrait--the character I personated permitted me to look at it fixedly and give full vent to the deep sigh which in very earnest broke from my heart. The eyes of the picture seemed to gaze into mine with a sorrowful compassion--almost I fancied the firm-set lips trembled and moved to echo my sigh.
"Is that a good likeness?" Ferrari asked, suddenly.
I started, and recollecting myself, answered: "Excellent! So true a resemblance that it arouses along train of memories in my mind--memories both bitter and sweet. Ah! what a proud fellow he was!"
"Fabio was also very proud," chimed in my wife's sweet voice. "Very cold and haughty."
Little liar! How dared she utter this libel on my memory! Haughty, I might have been to others, but never to her--and coldness was no part of my nature. Would that it were! Would that I had been a pillar of ice, incapable of thawing in the sunlight of her witching smile! Had she forgotten what a slave I was to her? what a poor, adoring, passionate fool I became under the influence of her hypocritical caresses! I thought this to myself, but I answered aloud: "Indeed! I am surprised to hear that. The Romani hauteur had ever to my mind something genial and yielding about it--I know my friend was always most gentle to his dependents."
The butler here coughed apologetically behind his hand--an old trick of his, and one which signified his intense desire to speak.
Ferrari laughed, as he held out his glass for more wine.
"Here is old Giacomo," he said, nodding to him lightly. "He remembers both the Romanis--ask him HIS opinion of Fabio--he worshiped his master."
I turned to my servant, and with a benignant air addressed him: "Your face is not familiar to me, my friend," I said. "Perhaps you were not here when I visited the elder Count Romani?"
"No, eccellenza," replied Giacomo, rubbing his withered hands nervously together, and speaking with a sort of suppressed eagerness, "I came into my lord's service only a year before the countess died--I mean the mother of the young count."