Yet these works of art figure at a very high valuation, in the total property of which the testator must divide one half amongst his children, though in point of fact they yield no income whatever.  But it is of no use to divide them, since none of the heirs could be at liberty to take them away nor realise their value in any manner.

The consequence is, that the principal heir, after the division has taken place, finds himself the nominal master of certain enormously valuable possessions, which in reality yield him nothing or next to nothing.  He also foresees that in the next generation the same state of things will exist in a far higher degree, and that the position of the head of the family will go from bad to worse until a crisis of some kind takes place.

Such a case has recently occurred.  A certain Roman prince is bankrupt.  The sale of his gallery would certainly relieve the pressure, and would possibly free him from debt altogether.  But neither he nor his creditors can lay a finger upon the pictures, nor raise a centime upon them.  This man, therefore, is permanently reduced to penury, and his creditors are large losers, while he is still de jure and de facto the owner of property probably sufficient to cover all his obligations.  Fortunately, he chances to be childless, a fact consoling, perhaps, to the philanthropist, but not especially so to the sufferer himself.

It is clear that the temptation to increase “distributable” property, if one may coin such, an expression, is very great, and accounts for the way in which many Roman gentlemen have rushed headlong into speculation, though possessing none of the qualities necessary for success, and only one of the requisites, namely, a certain amount of ready money, or free and convertible property.  A few have been fortunate, while the majority of those who have tried the experiment have been heavy losers.  It cannot be said that any one of them all has shown natural talent for finance.

Let the reader forgive these dry explanations if he can.  The facts explained have a direct bearing upon the story I am telling, but shall not, as mere facts, be referred to again.

I have already said that Ugo Del Ferice had returned to Rome soon after the change, had established himself with his wife, Donna Tullia, and was at the time I am speaking about, deeply engaged in the speculations of the day.  He had once been, tolerably popular in society, having been looked upon as a harmless creature, useful in his way and very obliging.  But the circumstances which had attended his flight some years earlier had become known, and most of his old acquaintances turned him the cold shoulder.  He had expected this and was neither disappointed nor humiliated.  He had made new friends and acquaintances during his exile, and it was to his interest to stand by them.  Like many of those who had played petty and dishonourable parts in the revolutionary times,