table all by himself. And Artois always welcomed him. He liked him.
But it was not only that which made him complaisant. Doro was a type,
and a singularly perfect one.

Now Artois laid down his pen, and pulled forward an arm-chair opposite
to the sofa.

"Mon Dieu, Doro! How fresh you look, like a fish just pulled out of
the sea!"

The Marchesino showed his teeth in a smile which also shone in his
round and boyish eyes.

"I have just come out of the sea. Papa and I have been bathing at the
Eldorado. We swam round the Castello until we were opposite your
windows, and sang 'Funiculi, funicula!' in the water, to serenade you.
Why didn't you hear us? Papa has a splendid voice, almost like
Tamagno's in the gramophone, when he sings the 'Addio' from 'Otello.'
Of course we kept a little out at sea. Papa is so easily recognized by
his red mustaches. But still you might have heard us."

"I did."

"Then why didn't you come unto the balcony, amico mio?"

"Because I thought you were street singers."

"Davvero? Papa would be angry. And he is in a bad temper to-day
anyhow."