“A servant--that is one thing,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “there are many, and the travellers many. One pays not too much attention to servants; but me, I think I can command----” Paolo said this with an ineffable look of modest importance; and he added in a lower tone: “To make it more easy for these ladies to go away--that is not what I should wish to do; but one must forget one’s self, and there may come another time--perhaps?” “Yes,” said Lydia, smiling. She was so glad to come to an end of the _tête-à-tête_, which was becoming so embarrassing, that she smiled with double sweetness upon Paolo. “Indeed I shall have more to do with Leghorn than I ever supposed. Mr. Oliver--who is your friend----” “My friend--of my heart,” said Paolo, laying his hand once more on his much-decorated bosom. He had dressed himself in all his finest chains and buttons, and a beautiful waistcoat, that Lydia might see him at his best. “Ah!--he is my brother,” Lydia said. She had begun to shake off the jarred and painful feelings that had spoiled her morning’s work. Daylight and ordinary life, and a new excitement between her and that, began to restore the perspective; and as she made this announcement the first really wholesome natural sense of pleasure came over her. It was Lionel who was out of perspective now, too close to her, overshadowing heaven and earth. But the other event began to appear in its natural size and aspect. Paolo’s state of wonder was unfeigned. The Italian was quick enough to observe the undercurrents around him on ordinary occasions; but Lydia had made too great and immediate an impression upon him to leave his eyes free for anything else. “Your brother!” he cried. “Tell me how he arrived here, as you told me last night; but I did not know all the meaning of it then,” said Lydia. “Tell me again how he came, and carried his own box.”