appreciation of this metaphysical paternity. This
passion for Signora Rigey seemed to him simply an aberration, and he was
more than ever confirmed in his opinion that the Professor's head was
not worth much, but that his heart was of gold.

So he knocked at the door, and Beniamino himself came to open it,
bearing a little oil lamp. "Well done," said he. "I was beginning to
think you were not coming, after all."

Gilardoni was in his dressing-gown and slippers, with a sort of white
turban on his head, and he exhaled a strong odour of camphor. He looked
like a Turk, like Gilardoni Bey, but the thin, sallow face which smiled
beneath the turban had nothing Turkish about it. Encircled by a short,
reddish beard, pompously embellished in the middle by a fine, big nose,
red and pimply, the face was lighted up by two beautiful blue eyes,
still very youthful, and full of simple kindness and poetry.

As soon as Franco had closed the door behind him his friend whispered:
"Is it done?" "It is done," Franco answered. The other embraced him and
kissed him in silence. Then he took him up stairs to the little study.
On the way he explained that, _secundum_ Raspail, he had applied a
compress of some sedative water to his head, for he was threatened with
a headache. He was an apostle of Raspail, and had converted Franco--who
often suffered from inflammatory sore throats--from leeches to camphor
cigarettes.

In the little study there was another very close and long embrace. "So
much! So much! So much!" Gilardoni exclaimed, meaning a world of things.

Poor Gilardoni, his eyes were glistening. He himself had longed in vain
for a happiness similar to his friend's! Franco understood and, much
embarrassed, did not know what to say to him, and a silence so
significant followed that Gilardoni could not stand it, and set about
lighting a little fire to heat some coffee he had prepared. Franco
offered to do this for him, and the Professor accepted, pleading his
headache, and began unrolling his turban before a basin of the sedative
water. "Well," said he, controlling his emotion by an effort of his
will, "tell me all about it." Franco told him everything, from his
grandmother's dinner-party, to the wedding ceremony in the church at
Castello, except of course, his private talk with Signora Teresa.
Professor Beniamino, meanwhile, had replaced his turban, and now
summoned up all his courage. "And----" said he, substituting a sort of
low groan f