see you. Arthur, my boy, give Mr. Sisson some Marsala—and take some yourself."
"Thank you, Sir," said the well-nourished young man in nice evening clothes. "You'll take another glass yourself, Sir?"
"Yes, I will, I will. I will drink a glass with Mr. Sisson. Major, where are you wandering off to? Come and take a glass with us, my boy."
"Thanks, Sir William," drawled the young major with the black patch.
"Now, Colonel—I hope you are in good health and spirits."
"Never better, Sir William, never better."
"I'm very glad to hear it; very glad indeed. Try my Marsala—I think it is quite good. Port is beyond us for the moment—for the moment—"
And the old man sipped his brown wine, and smiled again. He made quite a handsome picture: but he was frail.
"And where are you bound, Mr. Sisson? Towards Rome?"
"I came to meet Lilly," said Aaron.
"Ah! But Lilly has fled over the borders by this time. Never was such a man for crossing frontiers. Wonderful person, to be able to do it."
"Where has he gone?" said Aaron.
"I think to Geneva for the moment. But he certainly talked of Venice. You yourself have no definite goal?"
"No."
"Ah! You have not come to Italy to practice your art?"
"I shall have to practice it: or else—no, I haven't come for that."
"Ah, you will have to practice it. Ah, yes! We are all under the necessity to eat. And you have a family in England? Am I not right?"
"Quite. I've got a family depending on me."
"Yes, then you must practice your art: you must practice your art. Well—shall we join the ladies? Coffee will no doubt be served."
