“Exactly ‘” exclaimed Guido “I think Oliva must be Vathek himself’”

“Scarcely!” I said, smiling coldly.  “I lay no claim to supernatural experiences.  The realities of life are sufficiently wonderful for me.”

Antonio Biscardi the painter, a refined, gentle-featured man, looked toward us and said modestly: 

“I think you are right, conte.  The beauties of nature and of humanity are so varied and profound that were it not for the inextinguishable longing after immortality which has been placed in every one of us, I think we should be perfectly satisfied with this world as it is.”

“You speak like an artist and a man of even temperament,” broke in the Marchese Gualdro, who had finished his soup quickly in order to be able to talk—­talking being his chief delight.  “For me, I am never contented.  I never have enough of anything!  That is my nature.  When I see lovely flowers, I wish more of them—­when I behold a fine sunset, I desire many more such sunsets—­when I look upon a lovely woman—­”

“You would have lovely women ad infinitum!” laughed the French Capitaine de Hamal.  “En verite, Gualdro, you should have been a Turk!”

“And why not?” demanded Gualdro.  “The Turks are very sensible people—­they know how to make coffee better than we do.  And what more fascinating than a harem?  It must be like a fragrant hot-house, where one is free to wander every day, sometimes gathering a gorgeous lily, sometimes a simple violet—­sometimes—­” “A thorn?” suggested Salustri.

“Well, perhaps!” laughed the Marchese.  “Yet one would run the risk of that for the sake of a perfect rose.”

Chevalier Mancini, who wore in his button-hole the decoration of the Legion d’Honneur, looked up—­he was a thin man with keen eyes and a shrewd face which, though at a first glance appeared stern, could at the least provocation break up into a thousand little wrinkles of laughter.

“There is undoubtedly something entrainant about the idea,” he observed, in his methodical way.  “I have always fancied that marriage as we arrange it is a great mistake.”

“And that is why you have never tried it?” queried Ferrari, looking amused.

“Certissimamente!” and the chevalier’s grim countenance began to work with satirical humor.  “I have resolved that I will never be bound over by the law to kiss only one woman.  As matters stand, I can kiss them all if I like.”

A shout of merriment and cries of “Oh! oh!” greeted this remark, which Ferrari, however, did not seem inclined to take in good part.

“All?” he said, with a dubious air.  “You mean all except the married ones?”

The chevalier put on his spectacles, and surveyed him with a sort of comic severity.

“When I said all, I meant all,” he returned—­“the married ones in particular.  They, poor things, need such attentions—­and often invite them—­why not?  Their husbands have most likely ceased to be amorous after the first months of marriage.”