“Oh! a long time.  How could I speak to him, you know.  I do not suppose he often comes into the city.  And it is ever so long—­a year or more—­since I was out at St. Apollinare; as far as I can remember,” said the Marchese, with a rapid sidelong glance at the lawyer; “but I am convinced the old man is not in his right mind,” he added, not without some vehemence; “and it is dangerous to put any faith, or to build at all upon anything that such a person may say.  Why, he is always seeing visions; and what is such an one’s account worth of anything he may fancy himself to have seen.”

“Well, Signor Marchese, the tribunal will form its own opinion upon that point.  For my own part, I cannot help feeling glad of any scrap of evidence which tends to corroborate the opinion that the Marchese Ludovico has been erroneously and precipitately accused.”

“Of course, Signor Giovacchino, of course.  A chi lo dite!  And I am truly obliged to you for coming to me with the news you have given me.  But you can understand, perhaps—­in part, Signor Giovacchino, in part—­not altogether—­what I have gone through in these days.  My mind has been shaken—­sadly shaken, amico mio.  I shall never recover it—­never,” said the Marchese, letting his head fall on his bosom.

“Nay, Signor Marchese.  I would fain hope it is not so bad as all that.  Let this business of the trial be over, and the Marchese Ludovico, as I doubt not, entirely cleared and absolved, and all will yet go well.  The rest is matter of sorrow which time may be trusted to heal.”

“The trial!  Ay, the trial.  When—­eh?—­when is it likely to come off, Signor Giovacchino.  Yes, as you say, it would be a good thing if that were over,” said the Marchese, with a manner that indicated a high state of nervous irritability.

“It won’t be long; there is little or no hope of any further light being thrown on the matter; some day next week, I should say; I don’t think they will be longer than that; and the sooner the better—­only, that I am afraid you may find the ordeal a disagreeable one.”

“Who?  I?  Why should I—?  That is, of course, on Ludovico’s account—­ "

“Excuse me, Signor Marchese; but you must feel, surely, that it will be absolutely necessary for you to be present in court.”

“I?  I be present?  Why, don’t you see that I am unable to leave my chamber—­shall probably never leave it again; how can I be present in court?  It is out of the question.”

“Your lordship will pardon me, Signor Marchese, if I point out to you that it is quite indispensable that you should appear in court on the occasion of the trial,” returned the lawyer, firmly.  “Your own excellent judgment, and sense of what is fitting and due to your own position, will, I am sure, put this matter in an unmistakeable light before you.  Think a little what the inferences, the remarks, the suggestions would be to which your absence on such an occasion would give rise; not to mention that it can hardly be doubted that the tribunal will think it necessary to examine your lordship respecting certain points—­”