a hand out
suggestively toward the gates.

"Oh, come, dear," protested one of the men wearily; "you've dragged us
up here from Fiesole and I'm not going back without seeing what's to be
seen."

"That's like you men; always willing to be robbed rather than stand upon
your rights. But I vow that you weak men will ruin travel by giving in
all the time."

The man at whom this brief jeremiad was hurled painfully counted out two
lire fifty, which was immediately transferred to the palm of the guide,
who ushered the wayfarers in.

Solemnly Pietro watched them pass, wondering what the terms were.
O'Mally led the party to the fountain.

"What's this?" asked the woman.

"This," O'Mally began, with a careless wave of the hand, "is the famed
fountain by Donatello. It was originally owned by Catherine d'Medissy.
The Borgias stole it from her, and Italy and France nearly came to war
over it."

"The Borgias?" doubtfully. "Were these two families contemporaneous?"

"They were," scornfully. "These Borgias were not the head of the family,
however. Finally it fell into the hands of the first Prince d' Monty
Bianchy, and it has stood where you see it for three hundred years. It
is considered the finest specimen of its kind. The Italian government
has offered fabulous sums for it."

"I thought the government could force the sale of these things?"

"There has been some litigation over this property, consequently the
government can do nothing till the courts have settled the matter,"
recited O'Mally glibly.

"Oh."

The quintet consulted their guide-books, but before they had located the
paragraph referring to this work, O'Mally was cunningly leading them on
to the Della Robbias which hung in the ruined pavilion. With a grand yet
familiar air he declaimed over the marvelous beauties of this peculiar
clay with an eloquence which was little short of masterful. He passed on
to the antique marbles, touching them lightly and explaining how this
one was Nero's, that one Caligula's, that one Tiberius'. He lied so
easily and gracefully that, wherever it rested, the tomb of Ananias must
have rocked. And whenever his victims tried to compare his statements
with those in the guide-books, he was extolling some other treasure.
They finally put the guide-books under their arms and trusted in the
kindness of Providence.

"Do you know," said the woman who had not yet spoken, "you speak English
remarkably well? There is an accent I do not qui