“So you return to-morrow?” Romanelli exclaimed, twirling his tiny black moustache affectedly. To men his foppishness was nauseating; but women liked him because of his amusing gossip.
“Yes,” the other answered, sighing. “I expected to get a few days’ rest in London, but this afternoon I received orders to leave again to-morrow.”
“Your life must be full of change and entertainment,” the young Italian said.
“Rather too full,” the other laughed. “Already this year I’ve been to Italy more than twenty times, besides three times to Constantinople, once to Stockholm, twice to Petersburg, and innumerable trips to Brussels and Paris. But, by the way,” he added, putting down his glass as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, “you know Leghorn well, I think you said?”
“I’m not Livornese, but I lived there for ten years,” the other answered. “I came to London a year ago to learn English, for they said it was impossible to get any sort of good pronunciation in Italy.”
“I’ve passed through Pisa hundreds of times, but have only been in Leghorn once or twice,” observed the King’s messenger. “Charming place. Full of pretty girls.”
“Ah! yes,” cried Romanelli. “The English always admire our Livornesi girls.”
Tristram paused for a few seconds, then, raising his eyes until they met those of his new acquaintance, asked—
“Do you happen to know a girl there named Fanetti—Gemma Fanetti?”
Romanelli started perceptibly, and for an instant held his breath. He was utterly unprepared for this question, and strove vainly not to betray his surprise.