two days. Maitre Pastrini informed them that business had called him
to Civita Vecchia. He had started the previous evening, and had only
returned an hour since. He was charming. Whether he kept a watch
over himself, or whether accident did not sound the acrimonious chords
that certain circumstances had already touched, he was almost like everybody else.
This man was an enigma to Franz. The count must feel sure he recognized him; and yet he had not let fall a single word that indicated he had seen him anywhere. On his side, however great Franz's desire was to allude to their former interview, the fear of its being disagree able to the man who had loaded himself and his friends with kindness prevented him from mentioning it.
The count had learned the two friends had sent to secure a box at the Argentina Theater, and were told that they were all let. In consequence, he brought them the key of his own at least such was the apparent motive of his visit. Franz and Albert made some difficulty, alleging their fear of depriving him of it; but the count replied that, as he was going to the Palli Theater, the box at the Argentina Theater would be lost if they did not profit by it. This assurance determined the two friends to accept it.
Franz had become by degrees accustomed to the count's paleness, which had so forcibly struck him the first time he saw him. He could not refrain from admiring the severe beauty of his features, the only defect, or rather the principal quality, of which was the pallor. Veritable hero of Byron! Franz could not, we will not say see him, but even think of him without representing his stern head on the shoulders of Manfred, or beneath the cap of Lara. His forehead was marked by the line that indicates the constant presence of a bitter thought; he had those fiery eyes that seem to penetrate to the heart, and the haughty and disdainful upper lip that gives to the words it utters a peculiar character that impresses them on the minds of those to whom they are addressed.
The count was no longer young. He was at least forty; and yet it was easy to understand that he was formed to rule the young men with whom he associated at present. In reality, to complete his resemblance with the fantastic heroes of the English poet, the count seemed to have the power of fascination. Albert was constantly expatiating on their good fortune in meeting such a man. Franz was less enthusiastic"; but the count exercised over him also the ascendency a strong mind always acquires. He thought several times of the project the count had of visiting Paris; and he had no doubt but that, with his eccentric character, his characteristic face, and his colossal fortune, he would produce
