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have failed to attend the performance."

This retort put an end to the tactics of those who wanted to set
Gambara off on his high horse to amuse the new guest. Andrea was already
conscious of an unwillingness to expose so noble and pathetic a mania
as a spectacle for so much vulgar shrewdness. It was with no base
reservation that he kept up a desultory conversation, in the course of
which Signor Giardini's nose not infrequently interposed between
two remarks. Whenever Gambara uttered some elegant repartee or some
paradoxical aphorism, the cook put his head forward, to glance with pity
at the musician and with meaning at the Count, muttering in his ear, "_E
matto_!"

Then came a moment when the _chef_ interrupted the flow of his judicial
observations to devote himself to the second course, which he considered
highly important. During his absence, which was brief, Gambara leaned
across to address Andrea.

"Our worthy host," said he, in an undertone, "threatens to regale us
to-day with a dish of his own concocting, which I recommend you to
avoid, though his wife has had an eye on him. The good man has a mania
for innovations. He ruined himself by experiments, the last of which
compelled him to fly from Rome without a passport--a circumstance
he does not talk about. After purchasing the good-will of a popular
restaurant he was trusted to prepare a banquet given by a lately made
Cardinal, whose household was not yet complete. Giardini fancied he had
an opportunity for distinguishing himself--and he succeeded! for that
same evening he was accused of trying to poison the whole conclave, and
was obliged to leave Rome and Italy without waiting to pack up. This
disaster was the last straw. Now," and Gambara put his finger to his
forehead and shook his head.

"He is a good fellow, all the same," he added. "My wife will tell you
that we owe him many a good turn."

Giardini now came in carefully bearing a dish which he set in the middle
of the table, and he then modestly resumed his seat next to Andrea, whom
he served first. As soon as he had tasted the mess, the Count felt that
an impassable gulf divided the second mouthful from the first. He
was much embarrassed, and very anxious not to annoy the cook, who was
watching him narrowly. Though a French _restaurateur_ may care little
about seeing a dish scorned if he is sure of being paid for it, it is
not so with an Italian, who is not often satiated with praises.

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