oo little to come alone through the crowd.' What had they not
told him? Such things about Italy. 'They hoped,' said Pen, 'that _I
would not think_ they were like the Papalini. No indeed. They hoped I
knew the French were different quite; and that, though they protected
the Holy Father, they certainly didn't mean to fight for him. What
_they_ wanted was V.E. King of Italy. _Napoleon veut l'Italie libre._ I
was to _understand that, and remember it_.' The attention, and the
desire to conciliate Pen's good opinion, had perfectly turned the
child's head. It will be 'dearest Napoleon' more than ever. Of course,
he had invited the officers to 'come in and see mama,' only they were
too discreet for this.

Pantaleone is exiled--ordered to go in eight days, three of which are
passed. He is still in hopes of gaining more time, but the Pope is said
to be resolutely set against him. I am very sorry, not surprised. He
told Robert yesterday, that nothing can be surer than that Napoleon has
been throughout a true friend to Italy. Which is a good deal for a man
to admit who began with all the irritation against Napoleon of a Roman
of 1849. Even after the war, through Villafranca, the bad feeling
returned, and as he lives so much among the English, it was only natural
that he should receive certain influences. He is with Odo Russell (who
calls him Pant) nearly every day, and Mr. Cartwright is very intimate
with him besides. But P. is above all things Italian, and the Italian of
the most _incisive_ intellect I ever talked with. He praises Lord John.

* * * * *

_To Miss Browning_

[Rome,] [end of March] 1861 [postmark].

We take ourselves to be dismally aggrieved, ever dearest Sarianna, by
your criticisms on our photographs. After deep reflection I can't help
feeling sure (against Robert's impression) that he sent you--not the
right one, but one which has undeniably a certain 'grin.' I prevail with
him to let you have the _two-third likeness_ this time, in order to
decide the point. If you keep your opinion, why then all artistic Rome
is against you without exception. Nobody likes the sepia-coloured thing
of last year in comparison. Every album in Rome gives up its dead and
insists on the new likeness--not only is it considered more like, but so
infinitely superior in expression and poetical _convenance_, that it
_ought_ to be more like. So everybody thinks. With regard to the head, I
am of opinion th