"He remembers both the Romanis--ask him HIS opinion of Fabio--he worshiped his master." I turned to my servant, and with a benignant air addressed him: "Your face is not familiar to me, my friend," I said.

"Perhaps you were not here when I visited the elder Count Romani ?" "No, eccellenza," replied Giacomo, rubbing his withered hands nervously together, and speaking with a sort of suppressed eagerness, "I came into my lord's service only a year before the countess died--I mean the mother of the young count." "Ah! then I missed making your acquaintance," I said, kindly, pitying the poor old fellow, as I noticed how his lips trembled, and how altogether broken he looked.

"You knew the last count from childhood, then ?" "I did, eccellenza!" And his bleared eyes roved over me with a sort of alarmed inquiry.
"You loved him well ?" I said, composedly, observing him with embarrassment.
"Eccellenza, I never wish to serve a better master.

He was goodness itself--a fine, handsome, generous lad--the saints have his soul in their keeping! Though sometimes I cannot believe he is dead--my old heart almost broke when I heard it.

I have never been the same since--my lady will tell you so--she is often displeased with me." And he looked wistfully at her; there was a note of pleading in his hesitating accents.