cian (spirits who have conceived and perfected an Ideal through some other channel), transferring it to this, and escaping our conventional roads by pure ignorance of them; eh, Ugo? If you have no appetite, talk at least, Ugo!
Intendant. Sir, I can submit no longer to this course of yours. First, you select the group of which I formed one,—next you thin it gradually,—always retaining me with your smile,—and so do you proceed till you have fairly got me alone with you between four stone walls. And now then? Let this farce, this chatter end now: what is it you want with me?
Monsignor. Ugo!
Intendant. From the instant you arrived, I felt your smile on me as you questioned me about this and the other article in those papers—why your brother should have given me this villa, that podere,—and your nod at the end meant,—what?
Monsignor. Possibly that I wished for no loud talk here. If once you set me coughing, Ugo!—
Intendant. I have your brother’s hand and seal to all I possess: now ask me what for! what service I did him—ask me!
Monsignor. I would better not: I should rip up old disgraces, let out my poor brother’s weaknesses. By the way, Maffeo of Forli (which, I forgot to observe, is your true name), was the interdict ever taken off you, for robbing that church at Cesena?
Intendant. No, nor needs be: for when I murdered your brother’s friend, Pasquale, for him…
Monsignor. Ah, he employed you in that business, did he? Well, I must let you keep, as you say, this
