the mother?” said the count.
“Yes, for the mother’s sake—his poor mother!” cried the major, taking a third biscuit.
“Take some more wine, my dear Cavalcanti,” said the count, pouring out for him a second glass of Alicante; “your emotion has quite overcome you.”
“His poor mother,” murmured the major, trying to get the lachrymal gland in operation, so as to moisten the corner of his eye with a false tear.
“She belonged to one of the first families in Italy, I think, did she not?”
“She was of a noble family of Fiesole, count.”
“And her name