CHAPTER XII. DEATH IN LIFE
"It is such a long story, Hugo," said Beltrami, a trifle maliciously, "that we must really have some wine."
"I do not want wine; I want 'The Thousand and Second Night.'"
"Bene! you shall have both."
The Marchese arose and summoned his servant, who brought up a bottle of Barbera, that rough-tasting wine which is so pleasant and cool in hot weather. For the sake of companionship I took some with Beltrami, and haying thus attended to the duties of hospitality, he signed to his servant to withdraw, and without further preamble began his tale.
"Eh, Hugo, mon ami," he said, settling himself comfortably in his chair, "this would be a charming story for M. Bourget, that modern Balzac, who analyses the hearts of the ladies of this generation in so masterly a fashion.
