“A fine antique,” I remarked, carelessly, turning it over and over in my hand, “curious and valuable. A gift or an heirloom?”
“It belonged to my late friend, Count Fabio,” he answered, puffing a light cloud of smoke in the air as he drew his cigar from his lips to speak. “It was found in his pocket by the priest who saw him die. That and other trifles which he wore on his person were delivered to his wife, and—”
“She naturally gave you the cigar-case as a memento of your friend,” I said, interrupting him.
“Just so. You have guessed it exactly. Thanks,” and he took the case from me as I returned it to him with a frank smile.
“Is the Countess Romani young?” I forced myself to inquire.
“Young and beautiful as a midsummer morning!” replied Ferrari, with enthusiasm. “I doubt if sunlight ever fell on a more enchanting woman! If you were a young man, conte, I should be silent regarding her charms—but your white hairs inspire one with confidence. I assure you solemnly, though Fabio was my friend, and an excellent fellow in his ways, he was never worthy of the woman he married!”
“Indeed!” I said, coldly, as this dagger-thrust struck home to my heart. “I only knew him when he was quite a boy. He seemed to me then of a warm and loving temperament, generous to a fault, perhaps over-credulous, yet he promised well. His father thought so, I confess I thought so too. Reports have reached me from time to time of the care with which he managed the immense fortune left to him. He gave large sums away in charity, did he not? and was he not a lover of books and simple pleasures?”
“Oh, I grant you all that!” returned Ferrari, with some impatience. “He was the most moral man in immoral Naples, if you care for that sort of thing. Studious—philosophic—parfait gentilhomme—proud as the devil, virtuous, unsuspecting, and—withal—a fool!”
My temper rose dangerously—but I controlled it, and remembering my part in the drama I had constructed, I broke into violent, harsh laughter.
“Bravo!” I exclaimed. “One can easily see what a first-rate young fellow you are! You have no liking for moral men—ha, ha! excellent! I agree with you. A virtuous man and a fool are synonyms nowadays. Yes—I have lived long enough to know that! And here is our coffee—behold also the glorias! I drink your health with pleasure, Signor Ferrari—you and I must be friends!”