On landing, my first
thought was of thee, as thou knowest: but other things had caused me to
forget thee. Thou art, like myself, an Italian?"
"Signore, I am."
"Of what country?"
"Of your own, Signore; a Genoese, as I have said before."
The other remembered the circumstance, though it did not seem to please
him. He looked around, as if to detect what others thought, and then
continued his questions.
"A Genoese!" he repeated, slowly: "if this be so, we should know something
of each other. Hast ever heard of me, in thy frequent visits to the port?"
Maso smiled; at first, he appeared disposed to be facetious; but a dark
cloud passed over his swarthy lineaments, and he lost his pleasantry, in
an air of thoughtfulness that struck his interrogator as singular.
"Signore," he said, after a pause, "most that follow my manner of life
know something of your eccellenza; if it is only to be questioned of this
that I am here, I pray leave to be permitted to go my way."
"No, by San Francesco! thou quittest us not so unceremoniously. I am
wrong to assume the manner of a superior with one to whom I owe my life,
and am well answered.
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