All doubt of his identity was now at an end; his singular host evidently resided at Rome. The surprise and agitation occasioned by this full confirmation of Franz’s former suspicion had no doubt imparted a corresponding expression to his features; for the countess, after gazing with a puzzled look at his face, burst into a fit of laughter, and begged to know what had happened.
“Countess,” returned Franz, totally unheeding her raillery, “I asked you a short time since if you knew any particulars respecting the Albanian lady opposite; I must now beseech you to inform me who and what is her husband?”
“Nay,” answered the countess, “I know no more of him than yourself.”
“Perhaps you never before noticed him?”
“What a question—so truly French! Do you not know that we Italians have eyes only for the man we love?”
“True,” replied Franz.