A murmur of applause and a hearty clapping of hands rewarded this little speech, and the Marchese Gualdro sprung to his feet-"By Heaven!" he exclaimed, "we are not a party of terrified old women to shiver on the edge of a worn-out omen! Fill your glasses, signori! More wine, garcon! Per bacco! if Judas Iscariot himself had such a feast as ours before he hanged himself, he was not much to be pitied! Hola amici! To the health of our noble host, Conte Cesare Oliva!"

He waved his glass in the air three times--every one followed his example and drank the toast with enthusiasm. I bowed my thanks and acknowledgments--and the superstitious dread which at first bad undoubtedly seized the company passed away quickly--the talking, the merriment, and laughter were resumed, and soon it seemed as though the untoward circumstance were entirely forgotten. Only Guido Ferrari seemed still somewhat disturbed in his mind--but even his uneasiness dissipated itself by degrees, and heated by the quantity of wine he had taken, he began to talk with boastful braggartism of his many successful gallantries, and related his most questionable anecdotes in such a manner as to cause some haughty astonishment in the mind of the Duke di Marina, who eyed him from time to time with ill-disguised impatience that bordered on contempt. I, on the contrary, listened to everything he said with urbane courtesy--I humored him and drew him out as much as possible--I smiled complacently at his poor jokes and vulgar witticisms--and when he said something that was more than usually outrageous, I contented myself with a benevolent shake of my head, and the mild remark: "Ah! young blood! young blood!" uttered in a bland sotto-voce.