"Borromeo?" repeated Topsparkle meditatively. "No, the name is strange to me. And so your husband talked in his sleep, and about Venice? Do his thoughts often turn that way?" "'Tis the first time I have heard him. His ravings have been mostly about your honour's house in Soho Square. What can there be in that splendid mansion which should give Louis such a horror of it? He is always prating of ghosts. Do you really think 'tis haunted, sir?" "Not one whit more than this cosy little parlour of yours, my fair friend; but servants are superstitious, and have a way of inventing a ghost for every fine old house. Mine was once occupied by Lord Grey, who was beheaded after Monmouth's rebellion; and those fools of mine have concocted a story that his headless figure stalks in the corridors between midnight and cock-crow. There are no ghosts in Soho Square, madam, save such childish inventions as I tell you of; but I fear your husband is in a very bad way, and that these ravings of his are but too sure an indication of the brandy-drinker's disease. You must be careful of him, my good Madame Fétis, if you would not see him expire in a madhouse." "Alas, sir, how can I take care of a man who refuses to take care of himself? 'Twas only last night I implored him not to go to a supper at Lord Lavendale's house in Bloomsbury Square, to which his lordship had invited him." "So his lordship invited your husband to sup, did he? Vastly condescending, I protest." "Your honour would hardly believe how much notice the highest gentlemen in the land have taken of Fétis. 'Tis that has been his ruin. Lord Lavendale was monstrously taken with him. In his sleep that night it was Lavendale at every turn--Venice--Borromeo--Lavendale--mixed in all his ravings; and then yesterday evening, after the opera, he calls for a chair and is carried to his lordship's house, in spite of my protesting that the company he was going into would lead him into high play and hasten our ruin. He would not listen to me, but off he goes, in a sage-green ribbed velvet suit which your honour had made for the last birthday, and never wore but once--" "I remember the suit," said Topsparkle, "it made me look as sickly as a lady of fashion in her morning cap before she puts on her rouge. It cost me ninety-five guineas for the birthday, and I gave it to Fétis next morning. 'Tis my rule never to wear a suit a second time if I don't like myself in it on the first wearing. 'Tis against good sense that a man should disgust himself with his own person for the sake of a few paltry guineas. I dare swear Fétis looks admirable in the suit. 'Tis just the colour of his own complexion." "He looked more of a fine gentleman than 'tis well a man of his position should," replied Madame severely. "If he would take more pains to save money for his old age, and less to pass for a man of fashion, 'twould be better for both of us."