and little by little the Professor absorbed the conversation, for they
all asked him questions, few of which could be answered shortly. He was
one of those profoundly cultivated Italians who are often to be met
nowadays, but whose gifts it is not easy to appreciate except in a
certain degree of intimacy. They are singularly modest men as a rule,
and are by no means those about whom there is the most talk in the
world.

The party sat in their places when supper was over, with cloaks and
coats thrown over them against the night air, while Kalmon talked of all
sorts of things that seemed to have the least possible connection with
each other, but which somehow came up quite naturally. He went from the
last book on Dante to a new discovery in chemistry, thence to Japanese
monks and their beliefs, and came back smiling to the latest development
of politics, which led him quite naturally to the newest play, labour
and capital, the German Emperor, and the immortality of the soul.

"I believe you know everything!" exclaimed Marcello, with an admiring
look. "Or else I know nothing, which is really more probable!" The boy
laughed.

"You have not told us about the new form of death yet," said Aurora,
leaning on her elbows and burying her young hands in her auburn hair as
she looked across the table at Kalmon.

"You will never sleep again if I tell you about it," answered the
Professor, opening his brown eyes very wide and trying to look terrible,
which was quite impossible, because he had such a kindly face. "You do
not look frightened at all," he added, pretending to be disappointed.