She extended her hand.  I raised it to my lips.  She smiled as she withdrew it, and looking at me, or rather at the glasses I wore, she inquired: 

“You suffer with your eyes?”

“Ah, madame, a terrible infirmity!  I cannot endure the light.  But I should not complain—­it is a weakness common to age.”

You do not seem to be old,” she said, thoughtfully.  With a woman’s quick eye she had noted, I suppose, the unwrinkled smoothness of my skin, which no disguise could alter.  But I exclaimed with affected surprise: 

“Not old!  With these white hairs!”

“Many young men have them,” she said.  “At any rate, they often accompany middle age, or what is called the prime of life.  And really, in your case, they are very becoming!”

And with a courteous gesture of farewell she moved to leave the room.  Both Ferrari and myself hastened to escort her downstairs to her carriage, which stood in waiting at the door—­the very carriage and pair of chestnut ponies which I myself had given her as a birthday present.  Ferrari offered to assist her in mounting the step of the vehicle; she put his arm aside with a light jesting word and accepted mine instead.  I helped her in, and arranged her embroidered wraps about her feet, and she nodded gayly to us both as we stood bareheaded in the afternoon sunlight watching her departure.  The horses started at a brisk canter, and in a couple of minutes the dainty equipage was out of sight.  When nothing more of it could be seen than the cloud of dust stirred up by its rolling wheels, I turned to look at my companion.  His face was stern, and his brows were drawn together in a frown.  Stung already!  I thought.  Already the little asp of jealousy commenced its bitter work!  The trifling favor his light-o’-love and my wife had extended to me in choosing my arm instead of his as a momentary support had evidently been sufficient to pique his pride.  God! what blind bats men are!  With all their high capabilities and immortal destinies, with all the world before them to conquer, they can sink unnerved and beaten down to impotent weakness before the slighting word or insolent gesture of a frivolous feminine creature, whose best devotions are paid to the mirror that reflects her in the most becoming light!  How easy would be my vengeance, I mused, as I watched Ferrari.  I touched him on the shoulder; he started from his uncomfortable reverie and forced a smile.  I held out a cigar-case.

“What are you dreaming of?” I asked him, laughingly.  “Hebe as she waited on the gods, or Venus as she rose in bare beauty from the waves?  Either, neither, or both?  I assure you a comfortable smoke is as pleasant in its way as the smile of a woman.”

He took a cigar and lighted it, but made no answer.

“You are dull, my friend,” I continued, gayly, hooking my arm through his and pacing him up and down on the turf in front of his studio.  “Wit, they say, should be sharpened by the glance of a bright eye; how comes it that the edge of your converse seems blunted?  Perhaps your feelings are too deep for words?  If so, I do not wonder at it, for the lady is extremely lovely.”