"What a question!" exclaimed the latter. "How should I know whether you are going to fall in love with the girl or not?"
"I am half afraid I am," said Guido, thoughtfully.
His man announced dinner, and the two friends crossed the hall to the little dining room, and sat down under the soft light of the old-fashioned olive-oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. Everything on the table was old, worn, and spotless. The silver was all of the style of the first Empire, with an interlaced monogram surmounted by a royal crown. The same device was painted in gold in the middle of the plain white plates, which were more or less chipped at the edges. The glasses and decanters were of that heavy cut glass, ornamented with gold lines, which used to be made in Venice in the eighteenth century. Some of them were chipped, too, like the plates. It had never occurred to Guido to put the whole service away as a somewhat valuable collection, though he sometimes thought that it was growing shabby. But he liked the old things which had come to him from the ex-king, part of the furniture of a small shooting box that had been left to him, and which he had sold to an Austrian Archduke.
Lamberti took a little soup and swallowed half a glass of white wine.
"I had an odd dream last night," he said, "and I have had a little adventure to-day. I will tell you by-and-by."
"Just as you like," Guido answered. "I hope the adventure was not an accident—you look as if you had been badly shaken."
"Yes. I did not know that I could be so nervous. You see, I do not often dream. I generally go to sleep when I lay my head upon the pillow and wake when I have slept seven hours. At sea, I always have to be called when it is my watch. Yes, I have solid nerves. But last night—"
He stopped, as the man entered, bringing a dish.
"Well?" enquired Guido, who did not suppose that Lamberti could have any reason for not telling his dream in the presence of the servant.
Lamberti hesitated a moment, and helped himself before he answered.