Your countess is my Sandra still. I shall be pleased if child-bearing
trouble her not more zan a very little; but, enfin! she is married, and
you and I, my friend Wilfrid, we must accept ze decree, and say, no harm
to her out of ze way of nature, by Saint Nicolas! or any what saint you
choose for your invocation. Come along. And speed my letters by one of
your militaires at once off. Are Pericles' millions gold of bad mint?
If so, he is an incapable. He presumes it is not so. Come along; we
will drink to her in essence of Tokay. You shall witness two scenes.
Away!"

Wilfrid was barely to be roused from his fit of brooding into which
Pericles had thrown him. He sent the letters, and begged to be left to
sleep. The image of Vittoria seen through this man's mind was new, and
brought a new round of torments. "The devil take you," he cried when
Pericles plucked at his arm, "I've sent the letters; isn't that enough?"
He was bitterly jealous of the Greek's philosophic review of the
conditions of Vittoria's marriage; for when he had come away from the
concert, not a thought of her being a wife had clouded his resignation
to the fact. He went with Pericles, nevertheless, and was compelled to
acknowledge the kindling powers of the essence of Tokay. "Where do you
get this stuff?" he asked several times. Pericles chattered of England,
and Hagar's 'Addio,' and 'Camilla.' What cabinet operas would he not
give! What entertainments! Could an emperor offer such festivities to
his subjects? Was a Field Review equal to Vittoria's voice? He stung
Wilfrid's ears by insisting on the mellowed depth, the soft human warmth,
which marriage had lent to the voice. At a late hour his valet announced
Countess d'Isorella. "Did I not say so?" cried Pericles, and corrected
himself: "No, I did not say so; it was a surprise to you, my friend. You
shall see; you shall hear. Now you shall see what a friend Pericles can
be when a person satisfy him." He pushed Wilfrid into his dressing-room,