"Well, well, my young friend, since it _is_ true love you feel,
I will help you. I am a great tactician, and if King Carlo Alberto
had read a certain memorial I sent him on military matters he
would have won the battle of Novara. He did not read my memorial,
and the battle was lost, but it was a glorious defeat. How happy
the sons of Italy who died for their mother in that thrice holy
battle! The hymns of poets and the tears of women made enviable
their obsequies. I say it: what a noble, what a heroic thing
is youth! What flames divine escape from young bosoms to rise
to the Creator! I admire above everything young folk who throw
themselves into ventures of war and sentiment with the impetuosity
natural to their age."

Tasso, Novara, and the _diva_ so beloved of cardinals mingled
confusedly in Jean Servien's heated brain, and in a burst of
sublime if fuddled enthusiasm he wrung the old villain's hand.
Everything had grown indistinct; he seemed to be swimming in
an element of molten metal.

Monsieur Tudesco, who at the moment was imbibing a glass of kümmel,
pointed to his waistcoat of ticking.

"The misfortune is," he observed, "that I am garbed like a
philosopher. How show myself in such a costume among elegant
females? 'Tis a sad pity! for it would be an easy matter for
me to pay my respects to an actress at an important theatre. I
have translated the _Gerusalemme Liberata_, that masterpiece
of Torquato Tasso's. I could propose to the great actress whom
you love and who is worthy of your love, at least I hope so, a