vain as a popinjay, talkative as a parrot, wily as a serpent, gentle as a dove, cunning as a fox, surly as a bear; his glance is lightning, his voice thunder, his heart stone, his hands are iron, his conscience a hell, his sinews of steel, and his love like fire.  In short, he is like anything alive or dead, except a man, saving when he is mad.  Then he is a fool.  Only man can be a fool.  It distinguishes him from the higher animals.”

I cannot describe the unutterable scorn that blazed in his eyes as Benoni poured out the vials of his wrath on the unlucky human race.  With my views, we were not likely to agree in this matter.

“Who are you?” I asked.  “What right can you possibly have to abuse us all in such particularly strong terms?  Do you ever make proselytes to your philosophy?”

“No,” said he, answering my last question, and recovering his serenity with that strange quickness of transition I had remarked when he had made music during his previous visit.  “No, they all die before I have taught them anything.”

“That does not surprise me, baron,” said I. He laughed a little.

“Well, perhaps it would surprise you even less if you knew me better,” he replied.  “But really, I came here to talk about Cardegna and not to chatter about that contemptible creature, man, who is not worth a moment’s notice, I assure you.  I believe I can find these people, and I confess it would amuse me to see the old man’s face when we walk in upon him.  I must be absent for a few days on business in Austria, and shall return immediately, for I have not taken my bath yet that I spoke of.  Now, if it is agreeable to you, I would propose that we go to the hills, on my return, and prosecute our search together; writing to Nino in the meantime to come here as soon as he has finished his engagement in Paris.  If he comes quickly, he may go with us; if not, he can join us.  At all events, we can have a very enjoyable tour among the natives, who are charming people, quite like animals, as you ought to know.”

I think I must be a very suspicious person.  Circumstances have made me so, and perhaps my suspicions are very generally wrong.  It may be.  At all events I did suspect the rich and dandified old baron of desiring to have a laugh by putting Nino into some absurd situation.  He had such strange views, or, at least, he talked so oddly, that I did not believe half he said.  It is not possible that anybody should seriously hold the opinions he professed.

When he was gone I sat alone, pondering on this situation, which was like a very difficult problem in a nightmare, that could not or would not look sensible, do what I would.  It chanced that I got a letter from Nino that evening, and I confess I was reluctant to open it, fearing that he would reproach me with not having taken more pains to help him.  I felt as though, before opening the envelope, I should like to go back a fortnight and put forth all my strength to find the contessina, and gain a comforting sense of duty performed.  If I had only done my best how easy it would have been to face a whole sheet of complaints!  Meanwhile the letter was come, and I had done nothing worth mentioning.  I looked at the back of it, and my conscience smote me; but it had to be accomplished, and at last I tore the cover off and read.