Caper particularly admired a beautiful white jug, intended for a water-pitcher, and holding about two gallons.  After asking its price, he offered a quarter of the money for it; to Bagswell’s horror, the crockery-man took it, and Caper, passing his arm through the handle, was proceeding up the road, when Bagswell energetically asked him what he was going to do with it.

‘Enter Rome with it, like Titus with the spolia opima,’ replied Caper.

‘Oh!  I say, now,’ said the former, who was an Englishman and an historical painter; ’you aren’t going to trot all over the fair with that old crockery on your arm.  Why, God bless me, they’ll swear we are drunk.  There comes the Duchess of Brodneck; what the deuce will she say?’

‘Say?’ said Caper, ‘why, I’ll go and ask her; this is not court-day.’

Without another word, with water-pitcher on arm, he walked toward the Duchess.  Saluting her with marked politeness, he said: 

’A countryman of yours, madame, has objected to my carrying this objet de fantaisie, assuring me that it would occasion remarks from the Duchess of Brodneck.  May I have the good fortune to know what she says of it?’

‘She says,’ replied the lady, smiling and speaking slowly and quietly; ’that a young man who has independence enough to carry it, has confidence enough to—­fill it.’  She bowed, and passed on, Caper politely raising his hat, in acknowledgment of the well-rounded sentence.  When he returned to Bagswell, he found the historical painter with eyes the size of grape-shot, at the sublime impudence of the man.  He told him what she had said.

’Upon my honor, you Americans have a face of brass; to address a duchess you don’t know, and ask her a question like that!’

‘That’s nothing,’ said Caper, ’a little experience has taught me that the higher you fly, in England, the nearer you approach true politeness and courtesy.  Believe me, I should never have asked that question of any Englishwoman whose social position did not assure me she was cosmopolitan.’

‘Come,’ said Bagswell, ’come, after such an adventure, if there is one drop of any thing fit to drink in this town, we’ll all go and get lushy.’

They went.  They found a door over which hung a green branch.  Good wine needs no bush, therefore Italian wine-shops hang it out; for the wine there is not over good.  But as luck was with our three artists, in the shop over the door of which hung the green bough, they found that the padrone was an old acquaintance of Roejean; he had married and moved to Grotto Ferrata.  He had a barrel of Frascati wine, which was bright, sparkling, sweet, and not watered.  This the padrone tapped in honor of his guests, and at their urgent request, sat down and helped empty a couple of bottles.  Moreover, he told them that as the town was overcrowded, they would find it difficult to get a good dinner, unless they would come and dine with him, at his private table, and be his guests; which invitation Roejean accepted, to the tavern-keeper’s great joy, promising to be back at the appointed time.