"Of course I love her," was the lying response. "You remember—do you not—that you were indebted to me for your marriage with Laura Bonaletta?"
"Bonaletta!" screamed Strozzi. "There is no Laura Bonaletta; her name is Laura Strozzi, the Marchioness Strozzi, my wife! Remember that, sir—remember it."
"To be sure, to be sure," murmured Barbesieur; "he has forgotten everybody but that tiresome Laura. Let us see if we cannot stir up his memory to another tune."
Strozzi meanwhile had passed on, and, with his eyes fixed on his flowers, was slowly making his way to the castle. Barbesieur followed, though the poor lunatic seemed to have no consciousness of his presence. They walked on together in silence, until they had reached the castle, and entered the dining-room, where dinner was served.
Strozzi went up to the table, laid his offering on the plate, and bowed:
"Will you allow me to take my seat?" said he, humbly, while he took a chair opposite, which old Martino had drawn back for his accommodation.
"Do you see, my lord?" said Martino to Barbesieur; "he imagines the marchioness present at all his meals."
"He must be undeceived," said Barbesieur, roughly.
"I beseech you, signor," said the old man, "leave him in error; for, if you undeceive him, you will rob him of the only glimpse of happiness that remains to him."
"I shall make the attempt, nevertheless," replied Barbesieur, in a tone that admitted of no further remonstrance, while he advanced to the table, and seated himself in the empty chair.