o the carriages for a good seat for
me, and then remained talking cheerily from below. He declared he would
miss me that evening very much and announced his intention of going
after dinner to listen to the band in the public garden, the Villa
Nazionale. He would amuse himself by hearing excellent music and looking
at the best society. There would be a lot of people, as usual.

I seem to see him yet--his raised face with a friendly smile under the
thick moustaches, and his kind, fatigued eyes. As the train began to
move, he addressed me in two languages: first in French, saying,
"Bon voyage"; then, in his very good, somewhat emphatic
English, encouragingly, because he could see my concern: "All
will--be--well--yet!"

My friend's illness having taken a decidedly favourable turn, I returned
to Naples on the tenth day. I cannot say I had given much thought to Il
Conde during my absence, but entering the dining-room I looked for him
in his habitual place. I had an idea he might have gone back to Sorrento
to his piano and his books and his fishing. He was great friends with
all the boatmen, and fished a good deal with lines from a boat. But I
made out his white head in the crowd of heads, and even from a distance
noticed something unusual in his attitude. Instead of sitting erect,
gazing all round with alert urbanity, he drooped over his plate. I stood
opposite him for some time before he looked up, a little wildly, if such
a strong word can be used in connection with his correct appearance.

"Ah, my dear sir! Is it you?" he greeted me. "I hope all is well."

He was very nice about my friend. Indeed, he was always nice, with the
niceness of people whose hearts are genuinely humane. But this time it
cost him an effort. His attempts at general conversation broke down into
dullness. It occurred to me he might have been indisposed. But before I
could frame the inquiry he muttered:

"You find me here very sad."

"I am sorry for that," I said. "You haven't had bad news, I hope?"

It was very kind of me to take an interest. No. It was not that. No
bad news, thank God. And he became very still as if holding his
breath. Then, leaning forward a little, and in an odd tone of awed
embarrassment, he took me into his confidence.

"The truth is that I have had a very--a very--how shall I
say?--abominable adventure happen to me."

The energy of the epithet was sufficiently startling in that man of
moderate feelings and toned-down v