ne," (here he took out the ring and replaced it on his finger), "if
you could recommend me to any honest trafficker."

"Let us see, let us see," said Nello, perusing the floor, and walking up
and down the length of his shop. "This is no time to apply to Piero de'
Medici, though he has the will to make such purchases if he could always
spare the money; but I think it is another sort of Cleopatra that he
covets most... Yes, yes, I have it. What you want is a man of wealth,
and influence, and scholarly tastes--not one of your learned porcupines,
bristling all over with critical tests, but one whose Greek and Latin
are of a comfortable laxity. And that man is Bartolommeo Scala, the
secretary of our Republic. He came to Florence as a poor adventurer
himself--a miller's son--a `branny monster,' as he has been nicknamed by
our honey-lipped Poliziano, who agrees with him as well as my teeth
agree with lemon-juice. And, by the by, that may be a reason why the
secretary may be the more ready to do a good turn to a strange scholar.
For, between you and me, _bel giovane_--trust a barber who has shaved
the best scholars--friendliness is much such a steed as Ser Benghi's: it
will hardly show much alacrity unless it has got the thistle of hatred
under its tail. However, the secretary is a man who'll keep his word to
you, even to the halving of a fennel-seed; and he is not unlikely to buy
some of your gems."

"But how am I to get at this great man?" said the Greek, rather
impatiently.

"I was coming to that," said Nello. "Just now everybody of any public
importance will be full of Lorenzo's death, and a stranger may find it
difficult to get any notice. But in the meantime, I could take you to a
man who, if he has a mind, can help you to a chance of a favourable
interview with Scala sooner than anybody else in Florence--worth seeing
for his own sake too, to say nothing of his collections, or of his
daughter Romola, who is as fair as the Florentine lily before it got
quarrelsome and turned red."

"But if this father of the beautiful Romola makes collections, why
should he not like to buy some of my gems himself?"

Nello shrugged his shoulders. "For two good reasons--want of sight to
look at the gems, and want of money to pay for them. Our old Bardo de'
Bardi is so blind that he can see no more of his daughter than, as he
says, a glimmering of something bright when she comes very near him:
doubtless her golden hair, which,