“I esteem the wines of Sicily,” I responded, “but it was not for the sake of your flagons that I came to see you, Signor Polizzi.” He: “Then you have come to see me about paintings. You are an amateur. It is an immense delight for me to receive amateurs. I am going to show you the chef-d’oeuvre of Monrealese; yes, Excellence, his chef-d’oeuvre! An Adoration of Shepherds! It is the pearl of the whole Sicilian school!” I: “Later on I will be glad to see the chef-d’oeuvre; but let us first talk about the business which brings me here.” His little quick bright eyes watched my face curiously; and I perceived, with anguish, that he had not the least suspicion of the purpose of my visit. A cold sweat broke out over my forehead; and in the bewilderment of my anxiety I stammered out something to this effect: “I have come from Paris expressly to look at a manuscript of the Legende Doree, which you informed me was in your possession.” At these words he threw up his arms, opened his mouth and eyes to the widest possible extent, and betrayed every sign of extreme nervousness. “Oh! the manuscript of the ‘Golden Legend!’ A pearl, Excellence! a ruby, a diamond! Two miniatures so perfect that they give one the feeling of glimpses of Paradise! What suavity! Those colours ravished from the corollas of flowers make a honey for the eyes! Even a Sicilian could have done no better!” “Let me see it, then,” I asked; unable to conceal either my anxiety or my hope. “Let you see it!” cried Polizzi. “But how can I, Excellence? I have not got it any longer! I have not got it!” And he seemed determined to tear out his hair. He might indeed have pulled every hair in his head out of his hide before I should have tried to prevent him. But he stopped of his own accord, before he had done himself any grievous harm. “What!” I cried out in anger--“what! you make me come all the way from Paris to Girgenti, by promising to show me a manuscript, and now, when I come, you tell me you have not got it! It is simply infamous, Monsieur! I shall leave your conduct to be judged by all honest men!” Anybody who could have seen me at that moment would have been able to form a good idea of the aspect of a furious sheep. “It is infamous! it is infamous!” I repeated, waving my arms, which trembled from anger. Then Michel-Angelo Polizzi let himself fall into a chair in the attitude of a dying hero. I saw his eyes fill with tears, and his hair--until then flamboyant and erect upon his head--fall down in limp disorder over his brow. “I am a father, Excellence! I am a father!” he groaned, wringing his hands. He continued, sobbing: