The network of by-ways in this place is full of old-time memories.  Here is the Via Giulio Romano, where the painter himself once lived; here is the Macel dei Corvi, where Michael Angelo once lodged; hard by stood the statue of Marforio, christened by the mediaeval Romans after Martis Forum, and famous as the interlocutor of Pasquino.  The place was a centre of artists and scholars in those days.  Many a simple question was framed here, to fit the two-edged biting answer, repeated from mouth to mouth, and carefully written down among Pasquino’s epigrams.  First of all the low-born Roman hates all that is, and his next thought is to express his hatred in a stinging satire without being found out.

Like every real Roman, Marzio thought of old Marforio as he strolled up the narrow street towards the Capitol, and regretted the lawless days of conspiracy and treacherous deeds when every man’s hand was against his fellow.  He wandered on, his eyes cast down, and his head bent.  Some one jostled against him, walking quickly in the opposite direction.  He looked up and recognised Gasparo Carnesecchi’s sallow face and long nose.

“Eh!  Sor Marzio—­is it you?” asked the lawyer.

“I think so,” answered the artist.  “Excuse me, I was thinking of something.”

“No matter.  Of what were you thinking, then?  Of Pasquino?”

“Why not?  But I was thinking of something else.  You are in a hurry, I am sure.  Otherwise we would speak of that affair.”

“I am never in a hurry when there is business to be treated,” replied Carnesecchi, looking down the street and preparing to listen.

“You know what I mean,” Marzio began.  “The matter we spoke of two days ago—­my plans for my daughter.”

The lawyer glanced quickly at his friend and assumed an indifferent expression.  He was aware that his position, was socially superior to that of the silver-chiseller, in spite of Marzio’s great talent.  But he knew also that Lucia was to have a dowry, and that she would ultimately inherit all her father possessed.  A dowry covers a multitude of sins in the eyes of a man to whom money is the chief object in life.  Carnesecchi, therefore, meant to extract as many thousands of francs from Marzio as should be possible, and prepared himself to bargain.  The matter was by no means settled, in spite of the chiseller’s instructions to his wife concerning the outfit.

“We must talk,” said Carnesecchi.  “Not that I should be altogether averse to coming easily to an understanding, you know.  Bat there are many things to be considered.  Let us see.”

“Yes, let us see,” assented the other.  “My daughter has education.  She is also sufficiently well instructed.  She could make a fine marriage.  But then, you see, I desire a serious person for my son-in-law.  What would you have?  One must be prudent.”