"'To everlasting bliss'--there!" "'To affarlastin blees thar.' Stop. I repeat it all: 'My willina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees, ansit ansin hassaf awai to affarlastin blees thar.' Am I right?" "Yes," said the Senator, meekly. "I knew you war a poetic sola," said the Countess, confidingly. "You air honesto--true--you can not desave. When you spik I can beliv you. Ah, my Senator! an you can spik zis poetry!--at soch a taime! I nefare knew befoare zat you was so impassione!--an you air so artaful! You breeng ze confersazione to beauty--to poatry--to ze poet Watt--so you may spik verses mos impassione! Ah! What do you mean? Santissima madre! how I wish you spik Italiano." The Countess drew nearer to him, but her approach only deepened his perplexity. "How that poor thing does love me!" sighed the Senator. "Law bless it! she can't help it--can't help it nohow. She is a goner; and what can I do? I'll have to leave Florence. Oh, why did I quit Buttons! Oh, why--" The Countess was standing close beside him in a tender mood waiting for him to break the silence. How could he? He had been uttering words which sounded to her like love; and she--"a widow! a widow! wretched man that I am!" There was a pause. The longer it lasted the more awkward the Senator felt. What upon earth was he to do or say? What business had he to go and quote poetry to widows? What an old fool he must be! But the Countess was very far from feeling awkward. Assuming an elegant attitude she looked up, her face expressing the tenderest solicitude. "What ails my Senator?" "Why the fact is, marm--I feel sad--at leaving Florence. I must go shortly. My wife has written summoning me home. The children are down with the measles." Oh, base fabrication! Oh, false Senator! There wasn't a word of truth in that remark. You spoke so because you wished _La Cica_ to know that you had a wife and family. Yet it was very badly done. _La Cica_ changed neither her attitude nor her expression. Evidently the existence of his wife, and the melancholy situation of his unfortunate children, awaked no sympathy. "But, my Senator--did you not say you wooda seeng yousellef away to affarlasteen belees?" "Oh, marm, it was a quotation--only a quotation." But at this critical juncture the conversation was broken up by the arrival of a number of ladies and gentlemen. But could the Senator have known! Could he but have known how and where those words would confront him again! CHAPTER XLIV. "MORERE DIAGORA, NON ENIM IN COELUM ADSCENSURUS ES."--THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE SENATOR (NOTHING LESS--IT WAS A MOMENT IN WHICH A MAN MIGHT WISH TO DIE--THOUGH, OF COURSE, THE SENATOR DIDN'T DIE).