Cesare gulps and smiles and weaves his toes around the rungs of his chair in embarassment. "È vero. Mi scusi," he coughs. "I keep forgetting that my constitution isn't what... I was used to." He eyes the wine with renewed respect, then curiously pokes his own chin. "Did you ever meet Messer Antonio Giustinian?" he asks. "From a renowned Venetian family, he was. I bet he had horns."