Savigni. To the right, through an open door, he saw a large room where
a fat Sicilian woman was laying the table; to the left was a drawing-room
lighted only by a fire of fagots in a huge, black fireplace, the
furniture showing curiously distorted in the long shadows. Other rooms
opened towards the rear, and he realized that the old place was very
large. It was unkempt also, and showed the lack of a woman's hand.

"You exaggerate!" said Savigno. "After Paris the castello will seem
very mean. We Siciliani do not live in grand style, and, besides, I
have spent practically no time here, since my father (may the saints
receive him) left me free to wander. The place has been closed; the
old servants have gone; it is dilapidated."

"On the contrary, it's just the sort of place it should be--venerable
and overflowing with romance. You must rule like a medieval baron.
Why, you could sell this woodwork to some millionaire countryman of
mine for enough to realize a fortune."

"Per Dio! If taxes are not reduced I shall be forced to some such
expedient," the Count laughed. "It was my mother's home, it is my
birthplace, so I love it--even though I neglect it. As you perceive,
it is high time I took a wife. But enough! If you are lacking in
appetite, I am not, and Francesca is an unbearable tyrant when her
meals grow cold."

He led his friend up the wide stairs and left him to prepare for
supper.

"And so this ends it all," said Blake, as the two young men lounged in
the big, empty drawing-room later that evening. They had dined and