and matters of pure reason, such as
no man may paint: ay, and the thoughts of God, which angels could not
paint. But let that pass. I am a painter as well; but a sorry one."

"The better thy luck. 'They will buy thy work in Rome."

"But seeking to commend myself to one of thy eminence, I thought it well
rather to call myself a capable writer, than a scurvy painter."

At this moment a step was heard on the stair. "Ah! 'tis the good dame,"
cried Gerard. "What oh! hostess, I am here in conversation with Signor
Pietro. I dare say he will let me have my humble dinner here."

The Italian bowed gravely.

The landlady brought in Gerard's dinner smoking and savoury. She put the
dish down on the bed with a face divested of all expression, and went.

Gerard fell to. But ere he had eaten many mouthfuls, he stopped, and
said: "I am an ill-mannered churl, Signor Pietro. I ne'er eat to my mind
when I eat alone. For our Lady's sake put a spoon into this ragout with
me; 'tis not unsavoury, I promise you."

Pietro fixed his glittering eye on him.

"What, good youth, thou a stranger, and offerest me thy dinner?"

"Why, see, there is more than one can eat."

"Well, I accept," said Pietro; and took the dish with some appearance of
calmness, and flung the contents out of window.

Then he turned, trembling with mortification and ire, and said: "Let
that teach thee to offer alms to an artist thou knowest not, master
writer."

Gerard's face flushed with anger, and it cost him a bitter struggle not
to box this high-souled creature's ears. And then to go and destroy
good food! His mother's milk curdled in his veins with horror at such
impiety. Finally, pity at Pietro's petulance and egotism, and a touch of
respect for poverty-struck pride, prevailed.

However, he said coldly, "Likely what thou hast done might pass in a
novel of thy countryman, Signor Boccaccio; but 'twas not honest."

"Make that good!" said the painter sullenly.

"I offered thee half my dinner; no more. But thou hast ta'en it all.
Hadst a right to throw away thy share, but not mine. Pride is well, but
justice is better."

Pietro stared, then reflected.

"'Tis well. I took thee for a fool, so transparent was thine artifice.
Forgive me! And prithee leave me! Thou seest how 'tis with me. The world
hath soured me. I hate mankind. I was not always so. Once more excuse
that my discourtesy, and fare thee well."

Gerard sighed, and made for the door.

But suddenly