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, as Messer Luigi Pulci says of his Meridiana's, 'raggia come stella per sereno.' Ah, here come some clients of mine, and I shouldn't wonder if one of them could serve your turn about that ring."
