che_ to deal with Massimilla. This ray of hope came just in time
to save Emilio from drowning himself that night; for, indeed, as he
remembered the singer, he felt a horrible wish to go back to her.

The two friends then went to an inner room at Florian's, where they
listened to the conversation of some of the superior men of the town,
who discoursed the subjects of the day. The most interesting of these
were, in the first place, the eccentricities of Lord Byron, of whom the
Venetians made great sport; then Cataneo's attachment for la Tinti, for
which no reason could be assigned after twenty different causes had been
suggested; then Genovese's debut; finally, the tilting match between the
Duchess and the French doctor. Just as the discussion became vehemently
musical, Duke Cataneo made his appearance. He bowed very courteously to
Emilio, which seemed so natural that no one noticed it, and Emilio bowed
gravely in return. Cataneo looked round to see if there was anybody he
knew, recognized Vendramin and greeted him, bowed to his banker, a
rich patrician, and finally to the man who happened to be speaking,--a
celebrated musical fanatic, a friend of the Comtesse Albrizzi. Like
some others who frequented Florian's, his mode of life was absolutely
unknown, so carefully did he conceal it. Nothing was known about him but
what he chose to tell.

This was Capraja, the nobleman whom the Duchess had mentioned to the
French doctor. This Venetian was one of a class of dreamers whose
powerful minds divine everything. He was an eccentric theorist, and
cared no more for celebrity than for a broken pipe.

His life was in accordance with his ideas. Capraja made his appearance
at about ten every morning under the _Procuratie_, without anyone
knowing whence he came. He lounged about Venice, smoking cigars. He
regularly went to the Fenice, sitting in the pit-stalls, and between the
acts went round to Florian's, where he took three or four cups of coffee
a day; and he ended the evening at the cafe, never leaving it till about
two in the morning. Twelve hundred francs a year paid all his expenses;
he ate but one meal a day at an eating-house in the Merceria, where the
cook had his dinner ready for him at a fixed hour, on a little table at
the back of the shop; the pastry-cook's daughter herself prepared his
stuffed oysters, provided him with cigars, and took care of his money.
By his advice, this girl, though she was very handsome, would neve