of Nino's madness. Especially I call to mind his expression of
indifference when Ercole began to descant upon the worldly possessions
of the Lira household. It seemed to me that if Nino so seriously cast
his eyes on the Contessina Edvigia, he might at least have looked
pleased to hear she was so rich; or he might have looked disappointed,
if he thought that her position was an obstacle in his way. But he did
not care about it at all, and walked straight on, humming a little
tune through his nose with his mouth shut, for he does everything to a
tune.

"They are certainly gran' signor," Ercole said. "They live on the
first floor of the Palazzo Carmandola,--you know, in the Corso--and
they have a carriage, and keep two men in livery, just like a Roman
prince. Besides, the count once sent me a bottle of wine at Christmas.
It was as weak as water, and tasted like the solfatara of Tivoli, but
it came from his own vineyard in Germany, and was at least fifty years
old. If he has a vineyard, he has a castello, of course. And if he has
a castello, he is a gran' signor,--eh? what do you think, Sor Conte?
You know about such things."

"I did once, maestro mio. It is very likely."

"And as for the wine being sour, it was because it was so old. I am
sure the Germans cannot make wine well. They are not used to drinking
it good, or they would not drink so much when they come here." We were
crossing the bridge, and nearing Ercole's house.

"Maestro," said Nino, suddenly. He had not spoken for some time, and
he had finished his tune.