"I hope he appreciated it! There is a fountain in the court, and there is a charming old garden beyond it. The Countess's sitting-room looks into that garden. The staircase is of white marble, and there is a medallion by Luca della Robbia set into the wall at the place where it makes a bend. Before you come into the drawing-room you stand a moment in a great vaulted place hung round with faded tapestry, paved with bare tiles, and furnished only with three chairs. In the drawing-room, above the fire-place, is a superb Andrea del Sarto. The furniture is covered with pale sea-green."
My companion listened to all this.
"The Andrea del Sarto is there; it's magnificent. But the furniture is in pale red."
"Ah, they have changed it then—in twenty-seven years."
"And there's a portrait of Madame de Salvi," continued my friend.
I was silent a moment. "I should like to see that."
He too was silent. Then he asked, "Why don't you go and see it? If you knew the mother so well, why don't you call upon the daughter?"
"From what you tell me I am afraid."
