fine large eyes sparkling. "It was probably because the
door was locked, fortunately for him!"

The ladies were twelve in number. The master of the house, Professor
Guarnacci, son of the general-agent of one of them--the Marchesa Fermi,
a Roman--had spoken to her about the meeting which was to take place
at his house, and had mentioned the discourse to be pronounced by that
strange personage about whom all Rome was already talking, knowing him
as an enthusiastic religious agitator and miracle worker, most popular
in the Testaccio district. The Marchesa was determined to hear him
without being seen. She had arranged everything with Guarnacci, and had
admitted three or four friends into the conspiracy, each in her turn
obtaining permission to introduce others. They appeared a strangely
assorted company. Many were in evening _toilettes_, two were dressed
precisely like Friends, while only one lady wore black.

The two Friends, who were foreigners, seemed quite beside themselves
with enthusiasm, and were highly incensed against the Marchesa, a
sceptical, very sarcastic old woman, who remarked calmly:

"Yes, yes, he spoke very well; but I should have liked to see his face
while he was speaking."

Declaring she could judge men far better by their faces than by their
words, the old Marchesa reproached Guarnacci for not having made a hole
in the door, or at least left the key in the lock.

"You are too holy," she said. "You do not understand women!"

Guarnacci laughed, apologising with all the consideration due to his
father's employer, and assured her that Benedetto was as beautiful as an
angel. A rather insipid young woman who had come, "Goodness only knows
why!" the two Friends thought angrily, announced, in quiet tones, that
she had seen him twice, and that he was ugly.

"That is, of course, according to _your_ idea of beauty, signora!" one
of the Friends remarked sourly, while the other added in a low tone,
intended to enhance its sting, a poisonous _"Naturellement!"_

The insipid young woman, her colour deepening with embarrassment
and vexation, replied that he was pale and thin, and the two Friends
exchanged glances and smiles of tacit contempt. But where had she seen
him? Two other insipid young women were curious to know this.

"Why, on both occasions in my sister-in-law's garden," she answered.

"He is always in the garden!" the Marchesa exclaimed. "Does the angel
grow in a flower-bed or in a pot?"

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