hed
trousers appeared against a background of mysterious brown shadow. Into
this shadow we plunged, following him, to be led through a labyrinth of
queer passages and up dark stairways to the top of the old, old house.
There, in the strangest room I ever saw, we were greeted by a small
brown woman, as shabby as her husband, and a supernaturally clever black
cat.

A grated window set high up and deep in the discoloured wall, allowed a
few rays of yellow sunlight to fall revealingly upon a motley collection
of antiquities. Empire chairs were piled upon Louis Quinze
writing-desks. Tables of every known period formed a leaning tower in
one corner. Rich Persian rugs draped huge Florentine mirrors; priests'
vestments trailed from half-open chests of drawers. Brass candlesticks
and old Venetian glass were huddled away in inlaid cabinets, and
half-hidden with old illuminated breviaries and pinned rolls of lace.

A kind of madness seized Aunt Kathryn. She must have thought of Mrs.
Potter Adriance, for suddenly she wanted everything she saw, and said
so, _sotto voce_, to Mr. Barrymore.

Then the bargaining began. And there was nothing Dog-like about Beppo.
He laughed high-keyed, sardonic laughter; he scolded, he quavered, he
pleaded, he was finally choked with sobs; while as for his wife, she,
poor little wisplike body, early succumbed to whatever is Venetian for
nervous prostration.

Surely the Chauffeulier could not bear the strain of this agonizing
scene? Our consciences heavy with brass candlesticks and Marquise sofas,
we stood looking on, appalled at his callousness. Beppo and Susanna
cried weakly that this would be their ruin, that we were wringing the
last drops of blood from their hearts, we cruel rich ones, and in
common humanity I would have intervened had the pair not suddenly and
unexpectedly wreathed their withered countenances with smiles.

"What has happened? Are you giving them what they wanted?" I asked
breathlessly; for long ago I had lost track of the conversation.

"No; I promised them twenty lire over my first offer for that whole
lot," said Mr. Barrymore, indicating a heap of miscellaneous articles
reaching half-way to the ceiling, for which, altogether, Beppo had
demanded two thousand lire, and our offer had been seven hundred.

I could have prayed the poor old peoples' forgiveness, but to my
astonishment, as we went out they beamed with pleasure and thanked us
ardently for our generosity.

"Is it