“If he had not been utterly reckless he would not be in England to-day,” said Baretti. “Like myself, he is compelled to face your detestable climate on account of some indiscreet references to the Italian government, which he would certainly repeat to-morrow were he back again.”
“It brings me back to Tuscany once more, to see your face, Signor Nicolo,” said Goldsmith. “Yes, though your Excellency had not so much of a beard and mustacio when I saw you some years ago.”
“Nay, sir, nor was your Lordship's coat quite so admirable then as it is now, if I am not too bold to make so free a comment, sir,” said the man with another grim smile.
“You are not quite right, my friend,” laughed Goldsmith; “for if my memory serves me—and it does so usually on the matter of dress—I had no coat whatsoever to my back—that was of no importance in Pisa, where the air was full of patriotism.”
“The most dangerous epidemic that could occur in any country,” said Baretti. “There is no Black Death that has claimed so many victims. We are examples—Nicolo and I. I am compelled to teach Italian to a brewer's daughter, and Nicolo is willing to transform the most clumsy Englishman—and there are a good number of them, too—into an expert swordsman in twelve lessons—yes, if the pupil will but practise sufficiently afterwards.”
“We need not talk of business just now,” said Goldsmith. “I insist on my old friends sharing a bottle of wine with me. I shall drink to 'patriotism,' since it is the means of sending to my poor room two such excellent friends as the Signori Baretti and Nicolo.”
He rang the bell, and gave his servant directions to fetch a couple of bottles of the old Madeira which Lord Clare had recently sent to him—very recently, otherwise three bottles out of the dozen would not have remained.
The wine had scarcely been uncorked when the sound of a man's step was heard upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Jackson burst into the room.
“I have found you, you rascal!” he shouted, swaggering across the room to where Goldsmith was seated. “Now, my good fellow, I give you just one minute to restore to me those letters which you abstracted from my pocket last night.”
“And I give you just one minute to leave my room, you drunken blackguard,” said Goldsmith, laying a hand on the arm of Signor Nicolo, who was in the act of rising. “Come, sir,” he continued, “I submitted to your insults last night because I had a purpose to carry out; but I promise you that I give you no such license in my own house. Take your carcase away, sir; my friends have fastidious nostrils.”