iled, and he took them, overpowering me with thanks--while I was
perfectly satisfied to see that I had secured his services so
thoroughly by my jeweled bribe, that he either forgot, or else saw no
necessity to ask me for personal references, which in my position would
have been exceeding difficult, if not impossible, to obtain. When this
business transaction was entirely completed, I devoted myself to my
next consideration--which was to disguise myself so utterly that no one
should possibly be able to recognize the smallest resemblance in me to
the late Fabio Romani, either by look, voice, or trick of manner. I had
always worn a mustache--it had turned white in company with my hair. I
now allowed my beard to grow--it came out white also. But in contrast
with these contemporary signs of age, my face began to fill up and look
young again; my eyes, always large and dark, resumed their old
flashing, half-defiant look--a look, which it seemed to me, would make
some familiar suggestion to those who had once known me as I was before
I died. Yes--they spoke of things that must be forgotten and unuttered;
what should I do with these tell-tale eyes of mine?

I thought, and soon decided. Nothing was easier than to feign weak
sight-sight that was dazzled by the heat and brilliancy of the southern
sunshine, I would wear smoke-colored glasses. I bought them as soon as
the idea occurred to me, and alone in my room before the mirror I tried
their effect. I was satisfied; they perfectly completed the disguise of
my face. With them and my white hair and beard, I looked like a
well-preserved man of fifty-five or so, whose only physical ailment was
a slight affection of the eyes.

The next thing to alter was my voice. I had, naturally, a peculiarly
soft voice and a rapid, yet clear, enunciation, and it was my habit, as
it is the habit of almost every Italian, to accompany my words with the
expressive pantomime of gesture. I took myself in training as an actor
studies for a particular part. I cultivated a harsh accent, and spoke
with deliberation and coldness--occasionally with a sort of sarcastic
brusquerie, carefully avoiding the least movement of hands or head
during converse. This was exceedingly difficult of attainment to me,
and took me an infinite deal of time and trouble; but I had for my
model a middle-aged Englishman who was staying in the same hotel as
myself, and whose starched stolidity never relaxed for a single
instant. He w