And if he had seen me as often as he averred he must know me by sight.

How was it then that he did not recognize me now?
Following out this thought, I said aloud: "What sort of looking man was this Count Romani?
You say he was handsome--was he tall or short--dark or fair ?" Putting back his straggling gray locks from his forehead, the dealer stretched out a yellow, claw-like hand, as though pointing to some distant vision.
"A beautiful man!" he exclaimed; "a man good for the eyes to see! As straight as you are!--as tall as you are!--as broad as you are! But your eyes are sunken and dim--his were full and large and sparkling.
Your face is drawn and pale--his was of a clear olive tint, round and flushed with health; and his hair was glossy black--ah! as jet-black, my friend, as yours is snow-white!" I recoiled from these last words in a sort of terror; they were like an electric shock! Was I indeed so changed?
Was it possible that the horrors of a night in the vault had made such a dire impression upon me?
My hair white ?--mine! I could hardly believe it.

If so, perhaps Nina would not recognize me--she might be terrified at my aspect--Guido himself might have doubts of my identity.

Though, for that matter, I could easily prove myself to be indeed Fabio Romani--even if I had to show the vault and my own sundered coffin.

While I revolved all this in my mind the old man, unconscious of my emotion, went on with his mumbling chatter.
"Ah, yes, yes! He was a fine fellow--a strong fellow.