talking about. It may be imagined that the translations which we gave him were of the freest.
We saw a young man in violet stockings pass by.
"Behold," said Don Ottavio, "our patricians of the present day. Degrading livery! and in a few months I shall be wearing it! What happiness," he added, after a momentary silence, "what happiness to live in a country like yours! Were I a Frenchman, perhaps I might some day become a deputy."
This noble ambition inspired me with a strong inclination to laugh, which having been noticed by our abbé, I was obliged to explain to him that we were talking of the blunder of an archæologist who had mistaken a statue by Bernini for an antique.
We returned to the Palace Aldobrandi for dinner. We had scarcely swallowed our coffee when the marquise made her excuses tome in behalf of her son, who was compelled to retire to his apartment on account of certain pious observances. I was left alone with her and the Abbé Negroni who, buried in a great easy-chair, slept the sleep of the just. The marquise, meanwhile, was questioning me in detail upon my father, upon Paris, upon my past life and my plans for the future. She gave me the impression of being amiable and kind-hearted, but rather too inquisitive, and, in particular, too much interested in my religious well-being. She spoke Italian with admirable purity, though, and I received from her a fine lesson in pronunciation, which I promised myself to repeat without loss of time.
I often returned to see her. Almost every morning I would go to visit the antiquities in company with her son and the everlasting Negroni, and in the evening
