“My son Rafael--the son of my poor wife, for whose death I have been mourning fifteen years--Rafael, Excellence, wanted to settle at Paris; he hired a shop in the Rue Lafitte for the sale of curiosities. I gave him everything precious which I had--I gave him my finest majolicas; my most beautiful Urbino ware; my masterpieces of art; what paintings, Signor! Even now they dazzle me with I see them only in imagination! And all of them signed! Finally, I gave him the manuscript of the ‘Golden Legend’! I would have given him my flesh and my blood! An only son, Signor! the son of my poor saintly wife!” “So,” I said, “while I--relying on your written word, Monsieur--was travelling to the very heart of Sicily to find the manuscript of the Clerk Alexander, the same manuscript was actually exposed for sale in a window in the Rue Lafitte, only fifteen hundred yards from my house?” “Yes, it was there! that is positively true!” exclaimed Signor Polizzi, suddenly growing calm again; “and it is there still--at least I hope it is, Excellence.” He took a card from a shelf as he spoke, and offered it to me, saying, “Here is the address of my son. Make it known to your friends, and you will oblige me. Faience and enameled wares; hangings; pictures. He has a complete stock of objects of art--all at the fairest possible prices--and everything authentic, I can vouch for it, upon my honour! Go and see him. He will show you the manuscript of the ‘Golden Legend.’ Two miniatures miraculously fresh in colour!” I was feeble enough to take the card he held out to me. The fellow was taking further advantage of my weakness to make me circulate the name of Rafael Polizzi among the Societies of the learned! My hand was already on the door-knob, when the Sicilian caught me by the arm; he had a look as of sudden inspiration.