“I mean it metaphorically, my dear boy.  There is such a thing as simplifying one’s existence too much.  That sometimes ends in getting stuck.  Now you cannot possibly allow yourself to get stuck in your present position.  You know what I mean.  Oh, I don’t blame you!  If I were your age I should probably do the same thing, especially if I had your luck.  Blame you?  No!  Not in the least.  The cigarettes are there.  You’ve not given up smoking too?  No, that’s right.  A man without a small vice is as uninteresting as a woman without a past or a landscape without shadows.  Cigarettes never hurt anybody.  Look at me!  I used to smoke fifty a day when I was your age.”

Marcello blew a cloud of smoke, stirred his coffee, and leaned back.  He had scarcely heard what Corbario said, but the elder man’s careless chatter had put him at his ease.

“Folco,” he said quietly, “I want to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me seriously.  Will you?”

“As well as I can,” answered Corbario, instantly changing his tone and growing earnest.

“Don’t be surprised,” Marcello said, half apologetically, as if he were already weakening.  “I shall never do anything without your advice.  Of course you know how I feel about all this, that I am leading a disorderly life, and—­well, you understand!”

“Perfectly, my dear boy.  I only wish to help you out of it as soon as possible, if you want to be helped.  I’m quite sure that you will pull through in time.  I have always believed in you.”

“Thank you.  I know you have.  Well, I’ll ask you my question.  You know well enough that I shall never care for society much, don’t you?”

“Society will care for you,” answered Folco.  “What is the question?”

“I’m coming to it, but I want to explain, or it will not be quite clear.  You see, it is not as if I were a personage in the world.”

“What sort of personage?  Please explain.”

“I mean, if I were the head of a great house, with a great title and hereditary estate.”

“What has that to do with it?” Folco was mystified.

“If I were, it would make a difference, I suppose.  But I’m not.  I’m plain Marcello Consalvi, no better than any one else.”

“But vastly richer,” Folco suggested.

“I wish I were not.  I wish I were a poor clerk, working for my living.”

“The air of this place is not good for you, my boy.”  Folco laughed gaily.

“No, don’t laugh!  I’m in earnest.  If I were a poor man, nobody would think it at all strange if—­” Marcello hesitated.

“If what?”

“If I married Regina,” said Marcello rather desperately.

Folco’s expression changed instantly.

“Was that the question you were going to ask me?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

Marcello grew very red and smoked so fast that he choked himself.

“Is there any earthly reason why you should marry her?” asked Folco very quietly.