He looked at me steadily. “I am not aware that we have met before,” he said.
For a moment I thought the fever was on him; but a second glance convinced me that he was master of himself.
“Roberto!” I cried, trembling.
“You have the advantage of me,” he said civilly. “But my name is Roberti, not Roberto.”
The floor swam under me and I had to lean against the wall.
“You are not Count Roberto Siviano of Milan?”
“I am Tommaso de Roberti, professor of Italian, from Modena.”
“And you have never seen me before?”
“Never that I know of.”
“Were you never at Siviano, on the lake of Iseo?” I faltered.