He raised himself in his chair and bent forward to look at us, then he fell back.

'Ah, I remember now,' he murmured. 'Checco has gone. He wanted me to go too. But I am too old, too old, too old. I told Checco what it would be. I know the Forlivesi; I have known them for eighty years. They are more fickle and cowardly than any other people in this cesspool which they call God's earth. I have been an exile fourteen times. Fourteen times I have fled from the city, and fourteen times I have returned. Ah yes, I have lived the life in my time, but I am tired now. I don't want to go out again; and besides, I am so old. I might die before I returned, and I want to die in my own house.'

He looked at the fire, murmuring his confidences to the smouldering ashes. Then he seemed to repeat his talk with Checco.

'No, Checco, I will not come. Go alone. They will not touch me. I am Orso Orsi. They will not touch me; they dare not. Go alone, and give my love to Clarice.'

Clarice was Checco's wife. He kept silence for a while, then he broke out again,—

'I want Fabrizio.'

'Will I not do instead?' I asked.

'Who are you?'

I repeated patiently,—

'I am the servant placed here to serve you instead of Fabrizio. My name is Fabio.'