"Valerio Piozzi!" he whispered to me; "our friend is the identical officer of whom our late acquaintance the Signor Galdino was so jealous. Basta! there was good reason to be on the alert, and keep Despina close while he was so near as Catanzaro!"
"I have news for you, Signor Capitano," said Marco, as we lounged from the table d'hôte towards a cantina.
"My friend, I am glad of that," said the captain, with a half yawn, "'tis so deuced dull here, that one seems quite out of the world—entombed—bedevilled!"
"Il Cavaliere di Belcastro—"
"Ha!" exclaimed the captain, changing countenance, and turning briskly to Marco, whom he keenly scrutinized through his glass, which never left his eye.
"My gay Valerio, I have a tale to tell which will harrow up your heart, if you have one."
"The deuce!"
"The husband of Despina is dead—"
"The devil! is that all?" exclaimed the captain, with an almost uncontrollable burst of laughter. "That makes me merry," he added, stroking his mustachios, which were well perfumed and pointed with pomatum. "The particulars, Caro Signor: slain by the brigands, I presume?"
"No, by his own evil passions."