I at once led the way to the banqueting-room—­my guests followed gayly, talking and jesting among themselves.  They were all in high good humor, none of them had as yet noticed the fatal blank caused by the absence of the brothers Respetti.  I had—­for the number of my guests was now thirteen instead of fifteen.  Thirteen at table!  I wondered if any of the company were superstitious?  Ferrari was not, I knew—­unless his nerves had been latterly shaken by witnessing the death of his uncle.  At any rate, I resolved to say nothing that could attract the attention of my guests to the ill-omened circumstance; if any one should notice it, it would be easy to make light of it and of all similar superstitions.  I myself was the one most affected by it—­it had for me a curious and fatal significance.  I was so occupied with the consideration of it that I scarcely attended to the words addressed to me by the Duke di Marina, who, walking beside me, seemed disposed to converse with more familiarity than was his usual custom.  We reached the door of the dining-room; which at our approach was thrown wide open, and delicious strains of music met our ears as we entered.  Low murmurs of astonishment and admiration broke from all the gentlemen as they viewed the sumptuous scene before them.  I pretended not to hear their eulogies, as I took my seat at the head of the table, with Guido Ferrari on my right and the Duke di Manna on my left.  The music sounded louder and more triumphant, and while all the company were seating themselves in the places assigned to them, a choir of young fresh voices broke forth into a Neapolitan “madrigale”—­which as far as I can translate it ran as follows: 

    “Welcome the festal hour! 
   Pour the red wine into cups of gold! 
   Health to the men who are strong and bold! 
     Welcome the festal hour! 
   Waken the echoes with riotous mirth—­
   Cease to remember the sorrows of earth
     In the joys of the festal hour! 
   Wine is the monarch of laughter and light,
   Death himself shall be merry to-night! 
     Hail to the festal hour!”

An enthusiastic clapping of hands rewarded this effort on the part of the unseen vocalists, and the music having ceased, conversation became general.

“By heaven!” exclaimed Ferrari, “if this Olympian carouse is meant as a welcome to me, amico, all I can say is that I do not deserve it.  Why, it is more fit for the welcome of one king to his neighbor sovereign!”

“Ebbene!” I said.  “Are there any better kings than honest men?  Let us hope we are thus far worthy of each other’s esteem.”

He flashed a bright look of gratitude upon me and was silent, listening to the choice and complimentary phrases uttered by the Duke di Manna concerning the exquisite taste displayed in the arrangement of the table.

“You have no doubt traveled much in the East, conte,” said this nobleman.  “Your banquet reminds me of an Oriental romance I once read, called ‘Vathek.’”