"You to make a fool of yourself?" I interrupted, "by all means! Take your own time, enjoy the fun as much as you please; I promise you I will ask no account of your actions."

He was much gratified, and attended to me with even more punctiliousness than usual. As he prepared my breakfast I asked him: "By the way, when does the carnival begin?"

"On the 26th," he answered, with a slight air of surprise. "Surely the eccellenza knows."

"Yes, yes," I said, impatiently. "I know, but I had forgotten. I am not young enough to keep the dates of these follies in my memory. What letters have you there?"

He handed me a small tray full of different shaped missives, some from fair ladies who "desired the honor of my company," others from tradesmen, "praying the honor of my custom," all from male and female toadies as usual, I thought contemptuously, as I turned them over, when my glance was suddenly arrested by one special envelope, square in form and heavily bordered with black, on which the postmark "Roma" stood out distinctly. "At last!" I thought, and breathed heavily. I turned to my valet, who was giving the final polish to my breakfast cup and saucer: "You may leave the room, Vincenzo," I said, briefly. He bowed, the door opened and shut noiselessly--he was gone.