I was thoroughly satisfied, but as I know what an unwise plan it is to praise servants too highly for doing well what they are expressly paid to do, I intimated my satisfaction to my landlord by a mere careless nod and smile of approval. He, who waited on my every gesture with abject humility, received this sign of condescension with as much delight as though it had come from the king himself, and I could easily see that the very fact of my showing no enthusiasm at the result of his labors, made him consider me a greater man than ever. I now went to my own apartments to don my evening attire; I found Vincenzo brushing every speck of dust from my dresscoat with careful nicety--he had already arranged the other articles of costume neatly on my bed ready for wear. I unlocked a dressing-case and took from thence three studs, each one formed of a single brilliant of rare clearness and lusters and handed them to him to fix in my shirt-front. While he was polishing these admiringly on his coat-sleeve I watched him earnestly--then I suddenly addressed him.
"Vincenzo!" He started.
"Eccellenza?"
"To-night you will stand behind my chair and assist in serving the wine."
"Yes, eccellenza."
"You will," I continued, "attend particularly to Sigor Ferrari, who will sit at my right hand. Take care that his glass is never empty."
"Yes, eccellenza."
"Whatever may be said or done," I went on, quietly, "you will show no sign of alarm or surprise. From the commencement of dinner till I tell you to move, remember your place is fixed by me."
The honest fellow looked a little puzzled, but replied as before: "Yes, eccellenza."
I smiled, and advancing, laid my hand on his arm.
"How about the pistols, Vincenzo?"
"They are cleaned and ready for use, eccellenza," he replied. "I have placed them in your cabinet."
"That is well!" I said with a satisfied gesture. "You can leave me and arrange the salon for the reception of my friends."
He disappeared, and I busied myself with my toilet, about which I was for once unusually particular. The conventional dress-suit is not very becoming, yet there are a few men here and there who look well in it, and who, in spite of similarity in attire, will never be mistaken for waiters. Others there are who, passable in appearance when clad in their ordinary garments, reach the very acme of plebeianism when they clothe themselves in the unaccommodating evening-dress. Fortunately, I happened to be one of the former class--the sober black, the broad white display of starched shirt-front and neat tie became me, almost too well I thought. It would have been better for my purposes if I could have feigned an aspect of greater age and weightier gravity. I had scarcely finished my toilet when the rumbling of wheels in the court-yard outside made the hot blood rush to my face, and my heart beat with feverish excitement. I left my dressing-room, however, with a composed countenance and calm step, and entered my private salon just as its doors were flung open and "Signor Ferrari" was announced. He entered smiling--his face was alight with good humor and glad anticipation--he looked handsomer than usual.