Entering the fiacre, I drove in it a very little way toward the city. I bade the driver stop at the corner of the winding road that led to the Villa Romani, and there I alighted. I ordered Vincenzo to go on to the hotel and send from thence my own carriage and horses up to the villa gates, where I would wait for it. I also bade him pack my portmanteau in readiness for my departure that evening, as I proposed going to Avellino, among the mountains, for a few days. He heard my commands in silence and evident embarrassment. Finally he said: "Do I also travel with the eccellenza?"

"Why, no!" I answered with a forced sad smile. "Do you not see, amico, that I am heavy-hearted, and melancholy men are best left to themselves. Besides--remember the carnival--I told you you were free to indulge in its merriment, and shall I not deprive you of your pleasure? No, Vincenzo; stay and enjoy yourself, and take no concern for me."

Vincenzo saluted me with his usual respectful bow, but his features wore an expression of obstinacy.

"The eccellenza must pardon me," he said, "but I have just looked at death, and my taste is spoiled for carnival. Again--the eccellenza is sad--it is necessary that I should accompany him to Avellino."

I saw that his mind was made up, and I was in no humor for argument.