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.

Having finished dressing, I unlocked the door of the stuffy little
cabin and called the old rag-picker. He came shuffling along with his
head bent, but raising his eyes as he approached me, he threw up his
hands in astonishment, exclaiming,

"Santissima Madonna! But you are a fine man--a fine man! Eh, eh! Holy
Joseph! What height and breadth! A pity--a pity you are old; you must
have been strong when you were young