what I agree to, nothing
more."

In such an ill-humor and with such a resolution, Julien reached the door
of his house. If that dwelling was not the palace alluded to by Signorina
Sabatina, it was neither the usually common house as common today in new
Rome as in contemporary Paris, modern Berlin, and in certain streets of
London opened of late in the neighborhood of Hyde Park. It was an old
building on the Place de la Trinite-des-Monts, at an angle of the two
streets Sistina and Gregoriana. Although reduced to the state of a simple
pension, more or less bourgeoise, that house had its name marked in
certain guide-books, and like all the corners of ancient Rome it
preserved the traces of a glorious, artistic history. The small columns
of the porch gave it the name of the tempietto, or little temple, while
several personages dear to litterateurs had lived there, from the
landscape painter Claude Lorrain to the poet Francois Coppee. A few paces
distant, almost opposite, lived Poussin, and one of the greatest among
modern English poets, Keats, died quite near by, the John Keats whose
tomb is to be seen in Rome, with that melancholy epitaph upon it, written
by himself:

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

It was seldom that Dorsenne returned home without repeating to himself
the translation he had attempted of that beautiful 'Ci-git un don't le
nom, jut ecrit sur de l'eau'.

Sometimes he repeated, at evening, this delicious fragment:

The sky was tinged with tender green and pink.

This time he entered in a more prosaic manner; for he addressed the
concierge in the tone of a jealous husband or a debtor hunted by
creditors:

"Have you given the key to any one, Tonino?" he asked.

"Count Gorka said that your Excellency asked him to await you here,"
replied the man, with a timidity rendered all the more comical by the
formidable cut of his gray moustache and his imperial, which made him a
caricature of the late King Victor Emmanuel.

He had served in '59 under the Galantuomo, and he paid the homage of a
veteran of Solferino to that glorious memory. His large eyes rolled with
fear at the least confusion, and he repeated:

"Yes, he said that your Excellency asked him to wait," while Dorsenne
ascended the staircase, saying aloud: "More and more perfect. But this
time the familiarity passes all bounds; and it is better so. I have been
so surprised and annoyed from the first that I shall be easily able to