Taquisara laughed and knocked the ashes from his long black cigar.
"You came to me for advice, not for sentiment," he observed presently.
"Perhaps I am a bad adviser, but that is the worst you can say of me. I
daresay I do not understand women. I have known a few pretty well, but
that is all. I am not a lady killer, and I certainly never wished to
marry. You must not expect much of me--but what little there is to
expect will be practical. Perhaps Ghisleri could advise you better than
I. He is a queer fellow. If he ever cuts his throat, he will not die of
it--his heart and his head will go on living separately, just as they do
now."
Gianluca smiled again, for the description of the man was keen and true,
as men knew him.
"No," he answered; "I shall not consult Ghisleri. You and I are
different enough to understand each other. He and I are not, though he
is a good friend of mine."
"I should not say that you resemble Ghisleri in any way," observed
Taquisara, bluntly.
"You may not see it, but I feel it. It is not easy to explain. He and I
feel about many things in the same way, but we look at ourselves
differently."
"That sounds like a woman's speech!" said Taquisara. "But you are always
making fine distinctions which I cannot understand. What do you mean
when you say that you look at yourselves differently? How do you look at
yourselves?"
"Do you never think about yourself, as though you were another person,
and were judging yourself like a man you knew?"
"No," said Taquisara, thoughtfully.
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