He would amuse himself by hearing excellent music and looking
at the best society. There would be a lot of people, as usual.
I seem to see him yet--his raised face with a friendly smile under the
thick moustaches, and his kind, fatigued eyes. As the train began to
move, he addressed me in two languages: first in French, saying,
"Bon voyage"; then, in his very good, somewhat emphatic
English, encouragingly, because he could see my concern: "All
will--be--well--yet!"
My friend's illness having taken a decidedly favourable turn, I returned
to Naples on the tenth day. I cannot say I had given much thought to Il
Conde during my absence, but entering the dining-room I looked for him
in his habitual place. I had an idea he might have gone back to Sorrento
to his piano and his books and his fishing. He was great friends with
all the boatmen, and fished a good deal with lines from a boat. But I
made out his white head in the crowd of heads, and even from a distance
noticed something unusual in his attitude. Instead of sitting erect,
gazing all round with alert urbanity, he drooped over his plate.
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