nor paid his dwelling, "and I will remain here and
talk with my doctor, while he gives me the prescription for this
morning--that is to say, his bill of fare. Guess whence I come,
Brancadori," he added, assured of first stirring the cook's curiosity,
then his power of speech. "From the Palais Castagna, where they are
selling everything."

"Ah! Per Bacco!" exclaimed the Tuscan, with evident sorrow upon his
old parchment-like face, scorched from forty years of cooking. "If the
deceased Prince Urban can see it in the other world, his heart will
break, I assure you. The last time he came to dine here, about ten
years ago, on Saint Joseph's Day, he said to me: 'Make me some fritters,
Egiste, like those we used to have at Monsieur d'Epinag's, Monsieur
Clairin's, Fortuny's, and poor Henri Regnault's.' And he was happy!
'Egiste,' said he to me, 'I can die contented! I have only one son, but
I shall leave him six millions and the palace. If it was Gigi I should
be less easy, but Peppino!' Gigi was the other one, the elder, who died,
the gay one, who used to come here every day--a fine fellow, but bad!
You should have heard him tell of his visit to Pius Ninth on the day
upon which he converted an Englishman. Yes, Excellency, he converted
him by lending him by mistake a pious book instead of a novel. The
Englishman took the book, read it, read another, a third, and became a
Catholic. Gigi, who was not in favor at the Vatican, hastened to tell
the Holy Father of his good deed. 'You see, my son,' said Pius Ninth,
'what means our Lord God employs!' Ah, he would have used those
millions for his amusement, while Peppino! They were all squandered
in signatures. Just think, the name of Prince d'Ardea meant money! He
speculated, he lost, he won, he lost again, he drew up bills of exchange
after bills of exchange. And every time he made a move such as I
am making with my pencil--only I can not sign my name--it meant one
hundred, two hundred thousand francs to go into the world. And now he
must leave his house and Rome. What will he do, Excellency, I ask you?"
With a shake of his head he added: "He should reconstruct his fortune
abroad. We have this saying: 'He who squanders gold with his hands will
search for it with his feet.' But Sabatino is coming! She has been as
nimble as a cat."

The good man's invaluable mimetic art, his proverbs, the story of the
fete of St. Joseph, the original evocation of the heir of the Castagnas
continually