"Count Mario," announced Felice, and an effeminate old dandy came
tripping into the room. He was Roma's landlord and the Italian
Ambassador at St. Petersburg.

"So good of you to see me, Donna Roma. Such an uncanonical hour, too,
but I _do_ hope the Baron will not be driven to resign office on account
of these malicious slanders. You think not? So pleased!"

Then stepping to the window, "What a lovely view! The finest in Rome,
and that's the finest in Europe! I'm always saying if it wasn't Donna
Roma I should certainly turn out my tenant and come to live here
myself.... That reminds me of something. I'm ... well, I'm tired of
Petersburg, and I've written to the Minister asking to be transferred to
Paris, and if somebody will only whisper a word for me.... How sweet of
you! Adieu!"

Roma was sick of all this insincerity, and feeling bitter against the
person who had provoked it, when an unseen hand opened the door of a
room on the Pincio side of the drawing-room, and the testy voice of her
aunt called to her from within.

The old lady, who had just finished her morning toilet and was redolent
of scented soap, reclined in a white robe on a bed-sofa with a gilded
mirror on one side of her and a little shrine on the other. Her bony
fingers were loaded with loose rings, and a rosary hung at her wrist. A
cat was sitting at her feet, with a gold cross suspended from its
ribbon.

"Ah, is it you at last? You come to me sometimes. Thanks!" she said in a
withering whimper. "I thought you might have looked in last night, and I
lay awake until after midnight."

"I had a headache and went to bed," said Roma.

"I never have anything else, but nobody thinks of me," said the old
lady, and Roma went over to the window.

"I suppose you are as headstrong as ever, and still intend to invite
that man in spite of all my protests?"

"He is to sit to me this morning, and may be here at any time."

"Just so! It's no use speaking. I don't know what girls are coming to.
When I was young a man like that wouldn't have been allowed to cross the
threshold of any decent house in Rome. He would have been locked up in
prison instead of sitting for his bust to the ward of the Prime
Minister."

"Aunt Betsy," said Roma, "I want to ask you a question."

"Be quick, then. My head is coming on as usual. Natalina! Where's
Natalina?"

"Was there any quarrel between my father and his family before he left
home and became an exile?"

"Certainl