“I made the lock and key, and fitted it all myself,” he said.  “Look how neat and strong!  Yes; I was clever once at all that work—­it was my trade—­till that morning when I found her with the singer from Venice; then I forgot all I used to know—­it went away somehow, I could never understand why.  Here is the fisherman’s suit; you can take your time to put it on; fasten the door; the room is at your service.”

And he nodded several times in a manner that was meant to be friendly, and left me.  I followed his advice at once and locked myself in.  Then I stepped steadily to the mirror hanging on the wall, and looked at my own reflection.  A bitter pang shot through me.  The dealer’s sight was good, he had said truly.  I was old!  If twenty years of suffering had passed over my head, they could hardly have changed me more terribly.  My illness had thinned my face and marked it with deep lines of pain; my eyes had retreated far back into my head, while a certain wildness of expression in them bore witness to the terrors I had suffered in the vault, and to crown all, my hair was indeed perfectly white.  I understood now the alarm of the man who had sold me grapes on the highway that morning; my appearance was strange enough to startle any one.  Indeed, I scarcely recognized myself.  Would my wife, would Guido recognize me?  Almost I doubted it.  This thought was so painful to me that the tears sprung to my eyes.  I brushed them away in haste.

“Fy on thee, Fabio!  Be a man!” I said, addressing myself angrily.  “Of what matter after all whether hairs are black or white?  What matter how the face changes, so long as the heart is true?  For a moment, perhaps, thy love may grow pale at sight of thee; but when she knows of thy sufferings, wilt thou not be dearer to her than ever?  Will not one of her soft embraces recompense thee for all thy past anguish, and suffice to make thee young again?”

And thus encouraging my sinking spirits, I quickly arrayed myself in the Neapolitan coral-fisher’s garb.  The trousers were very loose, and were provided with two long deep pockets, convenient receptacles, which easily contained the leathern bags of gold and jewels I had taken from the brigand’s coffin.  When my hasty toilet was completed I took another glance at the mirror, this time with a half smile.  True, I was greatly altered; but after all I did not look so bad.  The fisherman’s picturesque costume became me well; the scarlet cap sat jauntily on the snow-white curls that clustered so thickly over my forehead, and the consciousness I had of approaching happiness sent a little of the old fearless luster back into my sunken eyes.  Besides, I knew I should not always have this care-worn and wasted appearance; rest, and perhaps a change of air, would infallibly restore the roundness to my face and the freshness to my complexion; even my white locks might return to their pristine color, such things had been; and supposing they remained white? well!—­there were many who would admire the peculiar contrast between a young man’s face and an old man’s hair.