“That is Mr. Oliver,” said Paolo, “you have seen him before? He is what we call _beluomo_, fine man, very fine man; he is my great friend; I was the first to meet him when he stepped upon this shore; we have been friends of the heart always since that day.”
Lydia cast an involuntary look from the little man in front of her, in his elaborate dress, to the big person of the Englishman. She could not help thinking they would make a strange pair. And Paolo, with the quickness of lightning, divined her meaning.
“You think he is so tall, and I--little? Nevare mind,” said the good little fellow, “we are of the same tallness in the heart. Nay, even me, I am a little the tallest there,” he added, laughing, “for I have nobody, and the good Oliver, he has his wife and little children, and many to love. He is my devotion,” added the Italian, warmly. “I have never had a friend before him. I am English too--though perhaps Mees Jos-lyn would not know it.”
“Are you indeed? I beg your pardon,” said Lydia, “I thought you were an Italian. Mr. Oliver is very English. Do you know where--he comes from? and is it long since he came here?”
“That no one can tell you so well as I,” said Paolo, delighted with the subject. “It was in--Ah, how well I remembare! I was upon the quay to watch for the great _vapore_--the steamboat I should say--and ecco! in one of those little boats that brought the travellers, this tall, big, beautiful young man. I step forward. I offer my help, for he could not speak a word, not one word. But no! he had a distrust of the foreigner. Mees Jos-lyn has perhaps remarked? It is the great fault of the English; they have always a distrust of the foreigners. He would not listen, nor permit himself to be assisted; but caught up his portmanteau and walked along. Wonderful! I stood and looked. Che bell’uomo! they all cried. I, I did not take any time to think--I am English, but I am Italian as well; from that moment I loved him, though he had a distrust of me. When I entered _table-d’hôte_ at the hotel where I always dined, there was he again; and then we became friends. We have quarrelled, oh yes, we have quarrelled--a hundred thousand times,” cried Paolo, “but we are always friends again. Mees Jos-lyn will pardon that I tell such a long tale. It is ten years.”