would be likely to become a purchaser."

"It is true; for, though I have obtained employment, as a corrector with
the Cennini, my payment leaves little margin beyond the provision of
necessaries, and would leave less but that my good friend Nello insists
on my hiring a lodging from him, and saying nothing about the rent till
better days."

"Nello is a good-hearted prodigal," said Bardo; "and though, with that
ready ear and ready tongue of his, he is too much like the ill-famed
Margites--knowing many things and knowing them all badly, as I hinted to
him but now--he is nevertheless `abnormis sapiens,' after the manner of
our born Florentines. But have you the gems with you? I would
willingly know what they are--yet it is useless: no, it might only
deepen regret. I cannot add to my store."

"I have one or two intaglios of much beauty," said Tito, proceeding to
draw from his wallet a small case.

But Romola no sooner saw the movement than she looked at him with
significant gravity, and placed her finger on her lips--

"Con viso che tacendo dicea, Taci."

If Bardo were made aware that the gems were within reach, she knew well
he would want a minute description of them, and it would become pain to
him that they should go away from him, even if he did not insist on some
device for purchasing them in spite of poverty. But she had no sooner
made this sign than she felt rather guilty and ashamed at having
virtually confessed a weakness of her father's to a stranger. It seemed
that she was destined to a sudden confidence and familiarity with this
young Greek, strangely at variance with her deep-seated pride and
reserve; and this consciousness again brought the unwonted colour to her
cheeks.

Tito understood her look and sign, and immediately withdrew his hand
from the case, saying, in a careless tone, so as to make it appear that
he was merely following up his last words, "But they are usually in the
keeping of Messer Domenico Cennini, who has strong and safe places for
these things. He estimates them as worth at least five hundred ducats."

"Ah, then, they are fine intagli," said Bardo. "Five hundred ducats!
Ah, more than a man's ransom!"

Tito gave a slight, almost imperceptible start, and opened his long dark
eyes with questioning surprise at Bardo's blind face, as if his words--a
mere phrase of common parlance, at a time when men were often being
ransomed from slavery or imprisonment--had had some special m