“In the air, or not in the air, if I had a million, I know what I would do.”

“I would have a newspaper,” said Marzio.  “Whew! how it would sting!”

“It would sting you, and bleed you into the bargain,” returned the lawyer with some contempt.  “No one makes mosey out of newspapers in these times.  If I had money, I would be a deputy.  With prudence there is much to be earned in the Chambers, and petitioners know that they must pay cash.”

“It is certainly a career,” assented the artist “But, as you say, it needs money for the first investment.”

“Not so much as a million, though.  With a good opening, and some knowledge of the law, a small sum would be enough.”

“It is a career, as I said,” repeated Marzio.  “But five thousand francs would not give you an introduction to it.”

“Five thousand francs!” exclaimed Carnesecchi, with a scornful laugh.  “With five thousand francs you had better play at the lottery.  After all, if you lose, it is nothing.”

“It is a great deal of money, Sor Gasparo,” replied the chiseller.  “When you have made it little by little—­then you know what it means.”

“Perhaps.  But we have been standing here more than a quarter of an hour, and I have a client waiting for me about a big affair, an affair of millions.”

“Bacchus!” ejaculated Marzio.  “You are not in a hurry about the matter.  Well, we can always talk, and I will not keep you.”

“We might walk together, and say what we have to say.”

“I am going to the Capitol,” Marzio said, for he had been walking in that direction when they met.

“That is my way, too,” answered the lawyer, forgetting that he had run into Marzio as he came down the street.

“Eh!  That is lucky,” remarked the artist with an almost imperceptible smile.  “As I was saying,” he continued, “five thousand francs is not the National Bank, but it is a very pretty little sum, especially when there is something more to be expected in the future.”

“That depends on the future.  But I do not call it a sum.  Nothing under twenty thousand is a sum, properly speaking.”

“Who has twenty thousand francs?” laughed Marzio, shrugging his shoulders with an incredulous look.

“You talk as though Rome were an asylum for paupers,” returned Carnesecchi.  “Who has twenty thousand francs?  Why, everybody has.  You have, I have.  One must be a beggar not to have that much.  After all, we are talking about business, Sor Marzio.  Why should I not say it?  I have always said that I would not marry with less than that for a dowry.  Why should one throw away one’s opportunities?  To please some one?  It is not my business to try and please everybody.  One must be just.”

“Of course.  What?  Am I not just?  But if justice were done, where would some people be?  I say it, too.  If you marry my daughter, you will expect a dowry.  Have I denied it?  And then, five thousand is not so little.  There is the outfit, too; I have to pay for that.”