“That is not my affair,” laughed the lawyer.  “That is the business of the woman.  But five thousand francs is not my affair either.  Think of the responsibilities a man incurs when he marries!  Five thousand!  It is not even a cup of coffee!  You are talking to a galantuomo, an honest man, Sor Marzio.  Reflect a little.”

“I reflect—­yes!  I reflect that you ask a great deal of money, Signer Carnesecchi,” replied Marzio with some irritation.

“I never heard that anybody gave money unless it was asked for.”

“It will not be for lack of asking if you do not get it,” retorted the artist.

“What do you mean, Signor Pandolfi?” inquired Carnesecchi, drawing himself up to his full height and then striking his hollow chest with his lean hand.  “Do you mean that I am begging money of you?  Do you mean to insult an honest man, a galantuomo?  By heaven, Signor Pandolfi, I would have you know that Gasparo Carnesecchi never asked a favour of any man!  Do you understand?  Let us speak clearly.”

“Who has said anything?” asked Marzio.  “Why do you heat yourself in this way?  And then, after all, we shall arrange this affair.  You wish it.  I wish it.  Why should it not be arranged?  If five thousand does not suit you, name a sum.  We are Christians—­we will doubtless arrange.  But we must talk.  How much should you think, Sor Gasparo?”

“I have said it.  As I told you just now, I have always said that I would not marry with less than eighteen thousand francs of dowry.  What is the use of repeating?  Words are not roasted chestnuts.”

“Nor eighteen thousand francs either,” answered the other.  “Magari!  I wish they were.  You should have them in a moment.  But a franc is a franc.”

“I did not say it was a cabbage,” observed Carnesecchi.  “After all, why should I marry?”

“Perhaps you will not,” suggested Marzio, who was encouraged to continue the negotiations, however, by the diminution in the lawyer’s demands.

“Why not?” asked the latter sharply, “Do you think nobody else has daughters?"’

“If it comes to that, why have you not married before?”

“Because I did not choose to marry,” answered Carnesecchi, beginning to walk more briskly, as though to push the matter to a conclusion.

Marzio said nothing in reply.  He saw that his friend was pressing him, and understood that, to do so, the lawyer must be anxious to marry Lucia.  The chiseller therefore feigned indifference, and was silent for some minutes.  At the foot of the steps of the Capitol he stopped again.

“You know, Sor Gasparo,” he said, “the reason why I did not arrange about Lucia’s marriage a long time ago, was because I was not particularly in a hurry to have her married at all.  And I am not in a hurry now, either.  We shall have plenty of opportunities of discussing the matter hereafter.  Good-bye, Sor Gasparo.  I have business up there, and that client of yours is perhaps impatient about his millions.”