"Go to your lady-love, mon beau Silenus!" I would think, as I watched him leaving my hotel with a couple of his boon companions, staggering and laughing loudly as he went, or singing the last questionable street-song of the Neapolitan bas-peuple. "You are in a would-be riotous and savage mood--her finer animal instincts will revolt from you, as a lithe gazelle would fly from the hideous gambols of a rhinoceros. She is already afraid of you--in a little while she will look upon you with loathing and disgust--tant pis pour vous, tant mieux pour moi!"
I had of course attained the position of ami intime at the Villa Romani. I was welcome there at any hour--I could examine and read my own books in my own library at leisure (what a privilege was mine); I could saunter freely through the beautiful gardens accompanied by Wyvis, who attended me as a matter of course; in short, the house was almost at my disposal, though I never passed a night under its roof. I carefully kept up my character as a prematurely elderly man, slightly invalided by a long and ardous career in far-off foreign lands, and I was particularly prudent in my behavior toward my wife before Ferrari. Never did I permit the least word or action on my part that could arouse his jealousy or suspicion. I treated her with a sort of parental kindness and reserve, but she--trust a woman for intrigue!--she was quick to perceive my reasons for so doing. Directly Ferrari's back was turned she would look at me with a glance of coquettish intelligence, and smile--a little mocking, half-petulant smile--or she would utter some disparaging remark about him, combining with it a covert compliment to me. It was not for me to betray her secrets--I saw no occasion to tell Ferrari that nearly every morning she sent her maid to my hotel with fruit and flowers and inquiries after my health--nor was my valet Vincenzo the man to say that he carried gifts and similar messages from me to her. But at the commencement of November things were so far advanced that I was in the unusual position of being secretly courted by my own wife!--I reciprocating her attentions with equal secrecy! The fact of my being often in the company of other ladies piqued her vanity--she knew that I was considered a desirable parti--and--she resolved to win me. In this case I also resolved--to be won! A grim courtship truly--between a dead man and his own widow! Ferrari never suspected what was going on; he had spoken of me as "that poor fool Fabio, he was too easily duped;" yet never was there one more "easily duped" than himself, or to whom the epithet "poor fool" more thoroughly applied. As I said before, he was SURE--too sure of his own good fortune. I wished to excite his distrust and enmity sometimes, but this I found I could not do. He trusted me--yes! as much as in the old days I had trusted HIM. Therefore, the catastrophe for him must be sudden as well as fatal--perhaps, after all, it was better so.