“My dear Contini, I do not mean to say that the Gothic roof has not helped us very much, but it cannot have helped us alone.  How about those two houses together at the end of the next block.  Balconies, travertine columns, superior doors and windows, spaces for hydraulic lifts and all the rest of it.  Yet no one buys.  Dry, too, and almost ready to live in, and all the joinery of pitch pine.  There is a reason for their ill luck.”

“What do you think it is?” asked Contini, opening his eyes.

“The land on which they are built was not in the hands of Del Ferice’s bank, and the money that built them was not advanced by Del Ferice’s bank, and Del Ferice’s bank has no interest in selling the houses themselves.  Therefore they are not sold.”

“But surely there are other banks in Rome, and private individuals—­”

“No, I do not believe that there are,” said Orsino with conviction.  “My cousin of San Giacinto thinks that the selling days are over, and I fancy he is right, except about Del Ferice, who is cleverer than any of us.  We had better not deceive ourselves, Contini.  Del Ferice sold our house for us, and unless we keep with him we shall not sell another so easily.  His bank has a lot of half-finished houses on its hands secured by mortgages which are worthless until the houses are habitable.  Del Ferice wants us to finish those houses for him, in order to recover their value.  If we do it, we shall make a profit.  If we attempt anything on our own account we shall fail.  Am I right or not?”

“What can I say?  At all events you are on the safe side.  But why has not the count given all this work to some old established firm of his acquaintance?”

“Because he cannot trust any one as he can trust us, and he knows it.”

“Of course I owe the count a great deal for his kindness in introducing me to you.  He knew all about me before the baker died, and afterwards I waited for him outside the Chambers one evening and asked him if he could find anything for me to do, but he did not give me much encouragement.  I saw you speak to him and get into his carriage—­was it not you?”

“Yes—­it was I,” answered Orsino, remembering the tall man in an overcoat who had disappeared in the dusk on the evening when he himself had first sought Del Ferice.  “Yes, and you see we are both under a sort of obligation to him which is another reason for taking his advice.”

“Obligations are humiliating!” exclaimed Contini impatiently.  “We have succeeded in increasing our capital—­your capital, Don Orsino—­let us strike out for ourselves.”

“I think my reasons are good,” said Orsino quietly.  “And as for obligations, let us remember that we are men of business.”

It appears from this that the low-born Andrea Contini and the high and mighty Don Orsino Saracinesca were not very far from exchanging places so far as prejudice was concerned.  Contini noticed the fact and smiled.