Maria Consuelo smiled rather vaguely as she took the advice in the shape of lemon juice and pepper.  Del Ferice could not interrupt his enjoyment of the oysters by words, and Orsino waited for an opportunity of saying something witty.

“I have lately formed the highest opinion of the ancient Romans,” said Donna Tullia, addressing him.  “Do you know why?”

Orsino professed his ignorance.

“Ugo tells me that in a recent excavation twenty cartloads of oyster shells were discovered behind one house.  Think of that!  Twenty cartloads to a single house!  What a family must have lived there—­indeed the Romans were a great people!”

Orsino thought that Donna Tullia herself might pass for a heroine in future ages, provided that the shells of her victims were deposited together in a safe place.  He laughed politely and hoped that the conversation might not turn upon archaeology, which was not his strong point.

“I wonder how long it will be before modern Rome is excavated and the foreigner of the future pays a franc to visit the ruins of the modern house of parliament,” suggested Maria Consuelo, who had said nothing as yet.

“At the present rate of progress, I should think about two years would be enough,” answered Donna Tullia.  “But Ugo says we are a great nation.  Ask him.”

“Ah, my angel, you do not understand those things,” said Del Ferice.  “How shall I explain?  There is no development without decay of the useless parts.  The snake casts its old skin before it appears with a new one.  And there can be no business without an occasional crisis.  Unbroken fair weather ends in a dead calm.  Why do you take such a gloomy view, Madame?”

“One should never talk of things—­only people are amusing,” said Donna Tullia, before Madame d’Aranjuez could answer.  “Whom have you seen to-day, Consuelo?  And you, Don Orsino?  And you, Ugo?  Are we to talk for ever of oysters, and business and snakes?  Come, tell me, all of you, what everybody has told you.  There must be something new.  Of course that poor Carantoni is going to be married again, and the Princess Befana is dying, as usual, and the same dear old people have run away with each other, and all that.  Of course.  I wish things were not always just going to happen.  One would like to hear what is said on the day after the events which never come off.  It would be a novelty.”

Donna Tullia loved talk and noise, and gossip above all things, and she was not quite at her ease.  The news that Orsino was to come to dinner had taken her breath away.  Ugo had advised her to be natural, and she was doing her best to follow his advice.

“As for me,” he said, “I have been tormented all day, and have spent but one pleasant half hour.  I was so fortunate as to find Madame d’Aranjuez at home, but that was enough to indemnify me for many sacrifices.”

“I cannot do better than say the same,” observed Orsino, though with far less truth.  “I believe I have read through a new novel, but I do not remember the title and I have forgotten the story.”