about of female garments.  In a few moments the doctor entered with an expression of sardonic amusement on his face.  “Yes!” he said in reply to my look of inquiry, “hysterics, lace handkerchiefs, eau-de-Cologne, and attempts at fainting.  All very well done!  I have assured the lady there is no fear of contagion, as under my orders everything will be thoroughly disinfected.  I shall go now.  Oh, by the way, the countess requests that you will wait here a few minutes—­she has a message for you—­she will not detain you long.  I should recommend you to get back to your hotel as soon as you can, and take some good wine.  A rivederci!  Anything I can do for you pray command me!”

And with a cordial shake of the hand he left me, and I heard the street door close behind him.  Again I paced wearily up and down, wrapped in sorrowful musings.  I did not hear a stealthy tread on the carpet behind me, so that when I turned round abruptly, I was startled to find myself face to face with old Giacomo, who held out a note to me on a silver salver, and who meanwhile peered at me with his eager eyes in so inquisitive a manner that I felt almost uneasy.

“And so the little angel is dead!” he murmured in a thin, quavering voice.  “Dead!  Ay, that is a pity, a pity!  But my master is not dead--no, no!  I am not such an old fool as to believe that.”

I paid no heed to his rambling talk, but read the message Nina had sent to me through him.

“I am broken-hearted!” so ran the delicately penciled lines.  “Will you kindly telegraph my dreadful loss to Signor Ferrari?  I shall be much obliged to you.”  I looked up from the perfumed missive and down at the old butler’s wrinkled visage; he was a short man and much bent, and something in the downward glance I gave him evidently caught and riveted his attention, for Tie clasped his hands together and muttered something I could not hear.

“Tell your mistress,” I said, speaking slowly and harshly, “that I will do as she wishes.  That I am entirely at her service.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes!  I understand!” faltered Giacomo, nervously, “My master never thought me foolish—­I could always understand him—­”

“Do you know, my friend,” I observed, in a purposely cold and cutting tone, “that I have heard somewhat too much about your master?  The subject is tiresome to me!  Were your master alive, he would say you were in your dotage!  Take my message to the countess at once.”

The old man’s face paled and his lips quivered—­he made an attempt to draw up his shrunken figure with a sort of dignity as he answered “Eccellenza, my master would never speak to me so—­never, never!” Then his countenance fell, and he muttered, softly—­“Though it is just—­I am a fool—­I am mistaken—­quite mistaken—­there is no resemblance!” After a little pause he added, humbly, “I will take your message, eccellenza.”  And stooping more than ever, he shambled out of the room.