at Ottoboni, the most guileless old
fellow on earth; but he is suspected of being the most vindictive of all
who are plotting for the regeneration of Italy. I cannot think how they
can bear to banish such a good man."

And here Giardini looked narrowly at the Count, who, feeling himself
under inquisition as to his politics, entrenched himself in Italian
impassibility.

"A man whose business it is to cook for all comers can have no political
opinions, Excellenza," Giardini went on. "But to see that worthy man,
who looks more like a lamb than a lion, everybody would say what I say,
were it before the Austrian ambassador himself. Besides, in these times
liberty is no longer proscribed; it is going its rounds again. At least,
so these good people think," said he, leaning over to speak in the
Count's ear, "and why should I thwart their hopes? I, for my part, do
not hate an absolute government. Excellenza, every man of talent is for
depotism!

"Well, though full of genius, Ottoboni takes no end of pains to educate
Italy; he writes little books to enlighten the intelligence of the
children and the common people, and he smuggles them very cleverly
into Italy. He takes immense trouble to reform the moral sense of our
luckless country, which, after all, prefers pleasure to freedom,--and
perhaps it is right."

The Count preserved such an impenetrable attitude that the cook could
discover nothing of his political views.

"Ottoboni," he ran on, "is a saint; very kind-hearted; all the refugees
are fond of him; for, Excellenza, a liberal may have his virtues. Oho!
Here comes a journalist," said Giardini, as a man came in dressed in the
absurd way which used to be attributed to a poet in a garret; his
coat was threadbare, his boots split, his hat shiny, and his overcoat
deplorably ancient. "Excellenza, that poor man is full of talent, and
incorruptibly honest. He was born into the wrong times, for he tells the
truth to everybody; no one can endure him. He writes theatrical articles
for two small papers, though he is clever enough to work for the great
dailies. Poor fellow!

"The rest are not worth mentioning, and Your Excellency will find them
out," he concluded, seeing that on the entrance of the musician's wife
the Count had ceased to listen to him.

On seeing Andrea here, Signora Marianna started visibly and a bright
flush tinged her cheeks.

"Here he is!" said Giardini, in an undertone, clutching the Count's arm
and