of ideal moral perfection. Folco, on the other hand,
had been associated with all the boy's sports and pleasures, and had
always encouraged him to amuse himself, giving as a reason that there
was no medicine like healthy happiness for a boy of delicate
constitution. Corbario, like Satan, knew the uses of truth, which are
numerous and not all good. Though Marcello would not have acknowledged
it to himself, his stepfather had been nearer to him, and more necessary
to him, than his mother, during several years; and besides, it was less
hard to bear the loss of which he learned when he recovered, because it
had befallen him during that dark and uncertain period of his illness
that now seemed as if it had lasted for years, and whereby everything
that had been before it belonged to a remote past.

Moreover, there was Regina, and there was youth, and there was liberty;
and Corbario was at hand, always ready to encourage and satisfy his
slightest whim, on the plea that a convalescent must be humoured at any
cost, and that there would be time enough to consider what should be
done with Regina after Marcello was completely recovered. After all,
Corbario told him, the girl had saved his life, and it was only right to
be grateful, and she should be amply rewarded for all the trouble she
had taken. It would have been sheer cruelty to have sent her away to the
country; and what was the cost of a quiet lodging for her in Trastevere,
and of a few decent clothes, and of a respectable middle-aged
woman-servant to take care of her? Nothing at all; only a few francs,
and Marcello was so rich! Regina, also, was so very unusually
well-behaved, and so perfectly docile, so long as she was allowed to see
Marcello every day! She did not care for dress at all, and was quite
contented to wear black, with just a touch of some tender colour.
Corbario made it all very easy, and saw to everything, and he seemed to
know just how such things were arranged. He was so fortunate as to find
a little house that had a quiet garden with an entrance on another
street, all in very good condition because it had lately been used by a
famous foreign painter who preferred to live in Trastevere, away from
the interruptions and distractions of the growing city; and by a very
simple transaction the house became the property of the minor, Marcello
Consalvi, to do with as he thought fit. This was much more convenient
than paying rent to a tiresome landlord who might at an