. There was, however, no such excuse for the mercurial
young American, and flat disappointment struck out the spark in
Gaeta's eye. The second act of her little drama seemed doomed to
failure.

"_Mille congratulations_," said the Boy cordially, I basely echoing
him. We shook hands with Gaeta; we shook hands with Paolo, and
something was said about weddings and wedding-cake. Then the Baron and
Baronessa appeared so opportunely as to give rise to the base
suspicion that they had been eavesdropping. More polite things were
mumbled, and we went to luncheon, Gaeta on Paolo's arm, with a
disappointed droop of her pretty shoulders. We drank to the health and
happiness of the newly affianced pair, a habit which seemed to be
growing upon me of late, and might lead me down the fatal grade of
bachelordom. The Boy and I were unable to conceal, as we ought to have
done out of politeness, the fact that our appetites had sustained the
shock of our lady's engagement, and I saw in her eyes that she could
never wholly forgive us, no, not even if we made love to her after
marriage.

"Shall you take your wedding trip in a balloon?" asked the Boy
demurely; and this was the last straw. Gaeta did not make the faintest
protest when, soon after, it was announced that he and I thought of
leaving Aix on the morrow. I am not sure that she even heard my vague
apologies concerning a telegram from friends.

We all went to the opera at one of the Casinos that night. It was
"Rigoletto," and Gaeta and Paolo sat side by side, looking into each
other's eyes during the love scene in the first act. But the Boy was
adamant, and I did not turn a hair. He and I were much occupied in
wondering at the strange infatuation of the stage hero, but especially
the villain--quite a superior villain--for the heroine, who looked
like an elderly papoose: therefore we had no time to be jealous of
anything that went on under our noses. The party supped with me, _en
masse_, at my hotel; and afterwards I said good-bye to Gaeta.

She did not know that I had planned my journey with a thought of
seeing her at the end, and drowning my sorrows in flirtation; but the
Boy knew, and had not forgotten--the little wretch. I saw his thought
twinkling in his eyes, as I said debonairly that we might all meet on
the Riviera. If I had not sternly removed my gaze, I should probably
have burst out laughing, and precipitated a second duel in which I,
and not the Boy, would have been a pri