We put on all our war-paint for the Z——’s party; so did the other guests. It was one of the best dinners I have seen in Rome. Everybody seemed on their mettle to make it go off well. It was put through with unlimited conversational fireworks and champagne. De Gooch thawed out as I have never known him to do before; he is usually congealed by the chilly atmosphere which he, poor man, brings with him. I asked Mr. Z—— how he accounted for the evil stories. He said:
“Some enemy, who spreads the reports, takes this dreadful way to destroy him!”
The dinner was so merry that the coming of the coffee instead of being a relief was a surprise. M. de Gooch after a moment’s hesitation refused the cup offered him.
“I am rather proud of my coffee, change your mind and try a little,” said Mrs. Z——.
I was sitting on the other side of De Gooch, and heard him say in a low voice,—
“Are you sure of your cook?”
“Perfectly; he is a Piedmontese, he has been with us ten years, his coffee may be trusted.”
Do you know what that meant? It meant that De Gooch is afraid of being poisoned, that poison is most commonly administered in coffee or chocolate, vide the Roman idiom, “Ha bevuto una tazza di cioccolata (He has drunk a cup of chocolate).” I asked Mr. Z—— if he believed anybody wanted to murder De Gooch. He said:
“I do not believe him in more danger of poison than of a lightning stroke. It is not wonderful, however, that he thinks he is.”
“Is not the malocchio very like the voodoo?” I asked.