l you do?"

"I have my two hands, signore. Besides, the signore has said it; I am
rich." Giovanni permitted a smile to stir his thin lips. "Yes, I must go
back. Your people have been good to me and have legally made me one of
them, but my heart is never here. It is always so cold and every one
moves so quickly. You can not lie down in the sun. Your police, bah!
They beat you on the feet. You remember when I fell asleep on the steps
of the cathedral? They thought I was drunk, and would have arrested me!"

"Everybody must keep moving here; it is the penalty of being rich."

"And I am lonesome for my kind. I have nothing in common with these
herds of Sicilians and Neapolitans who pour into the streets from the
wharves." Giovanni spoke scornfully.

"Yet in war time the Neapolitans sheltered your pope."

"Vanity! They wished to make an impression on the rest of the world. It
is dull here, besides. There is no joy in the shops. I am lost in these
great palaces. The festa is lacking. Nobody bargains; nobody sees the
proprietor; you find your way to the streets alone. The butcher says
that his meat is so-and-so, and you pay; the grocer marks his tins
such-and-such, and you do not question; and the baker says that, and you
pay, pay, pay! What? I need a collar; it is _quindici_--fifteen you say!
I offer _quattordici_. I would give interest to the sale. But no! The
collar goes back into the box. I pay _quindici_, or I go without. It is
the same everywhere; very dull, dead, lifeless."

Hillard was moved to laughter. He very well understood the old man's
lament. In Italy, if there is one thing more than another that pleases
the native it is to make believe to himself that he has got the better
of a bargain. A shrewd purchase enlivens the whole day; it is talked
about, laughed over, and becomes the history of the day that Tomass', or
Pietro, or Paoli, or whatever his name may be, has bested the merchant
out of some twenty centesimi.

"And the cook and the butler," concluded Giovanna; "we do not get on
well."

"It is because they are in mortal fear of you, you brigand! Well, my
coat and cap."

Hillard presently left the house and hailed a Fifth Avenue omnibus. He
looked with negative interest at the advertisements, at the people in
the streets, at his fellow-travelers. One of these was hidden behind his
morning paper. _Personals._ Hillard squirmed a little. The world never
holds very much romance in the sober morning. What a