It was nearly one o'clock when he reached his palace in Rome. Luigi, the valet, was sitting up for him, as usual.
"This is the second time in three days," said Luigi, "that you have been out all night.... A telegram," he threatened, "would bring the mistress back to Rome."
"Forgive me, old friend," said Asabri, and he leaned on Luigi's shoulder; "but I have fallen in love...."
"What!" screamed the valet. "At your age?"
"It is quite true," said Asabri, a little sadly, "that at my age a man most easily falls in love—with life."
"You shall go to bed at once," said Luigi sternly. "I shall prepare a hot lemonade, and you shall take five grains of quinine.... You are damp.... The mist from the Campagna...."
Asabri yawned in the ancient servitor's face.
"Luigi," he said, "I think I shall buy you a farm and a wife; or a barge and a wife...."
"You do, do you?" said Luigi. "And I think you'll take your quinine like a Trojan, or I'll know the reason why."
"Everybody regards me as rather an important person," complained Asabri, "except you."