fell upon the hand he kissed.

"Cospetto!" said Dr. Riccabocca, "a thousand mock pearls do not make up
the cost of a single true one! The tears of women--we know their worth;
but the tears of an honest man---Fie, Giacomo!--at least I can never
repay you this! Go and see to our wardrobe."

So far as his master's wardrobe was concerned, that order was pleasing to
Jackeymo; for the doctor had in his drawers suits which Jackeymo
pronounced to be as good as new, though many a long year had passed since
they left the tailor's hands. But when Jackeymo came to examine the
state of his own clothing department, his face grew considerably longer.
It was not that he was without other clothes than those on his back,--
quantity was there, but the quality! Mournfully he gazed on two suits,
complete in three separate members of which man's raiments are composed:
the one suit extended at length upon his bed, like a veteran stretched by
pious hands after death; the other brought piecemeal to the invidious
light,--the torso placed upon a chair, the limbs dangling down from
Jackeymo's melancholy arm. No bodies long exposed at the Morgue could
evince less sign of resuscitation than those respectable defuncts! For,
indeed, Jackeymo had been less thrifty of his apparel, more /profusus
sui/, than his master. In the earliest days of their exile, he preserved
the decorous habit of dressing for dinner,--it was a respect due to the
padrone,--and that habit had lasted till the two habits on which it
necessarily depended had evinced the first symptoms of decay; then the
evening clothes had been taken into morning wear, in which hard service
they had breathed their last.

The doctor, notwithstanding his general philosophical abstraction from
such household details, had more than once said, rather in pity to