“Vincenzo!” He started.

“Eccellenza?”

“To-night you will stand behind my chair and assist in serving the wine.”

“Yes, eccellenza.”

“You will,” I continued, “attend particularly to Sigor Ferrari, who will sit at my right hand.  Take care that his glass is never empty.”

“Yes, eccellenza.”

“Whatever may be said or done,” I went on, quietly, “you will show no sign of alarm or surprise.  From the commencement of dinner till I tell you to move, remember your place is fixed by me.”

The honest fellow looked a little puzzled, but replied as before: 

“Yes, eccellenza.”

I smiled, and advancing, laid my hand on his arm.

“How about the pistols, Vincenzo?”

“They are cleaned and ready for use, eccellenza,” he replied.  “I have placed them in your cabinet.”

“That is well!” I said with a satisfied gesture.  “You can leave me and arrange the salon for the reception of my friends.”

He disappeared, and I busied myself with my toilet, about which I was for once unusually particular.  The conventional dress-suit is not very becoming, yet there are a few men here and there who look well in it, and who, in spite of similarity in attire, will never be mistaken for waiters.  Others there are who, passable in appearance when clad in their ordinary garments, reach the very acme of plebeianism when they clothe themselves in the unaccommodating evening-dress.  Fortunately, I happened to be one of the former class—­the sober black, the broad white display of starched shirt-front and neat tie became me, almost too well I thought.  It would have been better for my purposes if I could have feigned an aspect of greater age and weightier gravity.  I had scarcely finished my toilet when the rumbling of wheels in the court-yard outside made the hot blood rush to my face, and my heart beat with feverish excitement.  I left my dressing-room, however, with a composed countenance and calm step, and entered my private salon just as its doors were flung open and “Signor Ferrari” was announced.  He entered smiling—­his face was alight with good humor and glad anticipation—­ he looked handsomer than usual.

“Eccomi qua!” he cried, seizing my hands enthusiastically in his own.  “My dear conte, I am delighted to see you!  What an excellent fellow you are!  A kind of amiable Arabian Nights genius, who occupies himself in making mortals happy.  And how are you?  You look remarkably well!”

“I can return the compliment,” I said, gayly.  “You are more of an Antinous than ever.”

He laughed, well pleased, and sat down, drawing off his gloves and loosening his traveling overcoat.

“Well, I suppose plenty of cash puts a man in good humor, and therefore in good condition,” he replied.  “But my dear fellow, you are dressed for dinner—­quel preux chevalier!  I am positively unfit to be in your company!  You insisted that I should come to you directly, on my arrival, but I really must change my apparel.  Your man took my valise; in it are my dress-clothes—­I shall not be ten minutes putting them on.”