On leaving the ruined palace, instead of returning to the Piazza di Spagna I turned to the left and passed along a narrow and dirty street only inhabited by people of the lowest sort.  As I slowly walked along, a woman came out of her house and asked me politely if I were looking for anybody.

“I am looking for a room to let.”

“There are none here, sir, but, you will find a hundred in the square.”

“I know it, but I want the room to be here, not for the sake of the expense, but that I may be sure of being able to spend an hour or so of a morning with a person in whom I am interested.  I am ready to pay anything.”

“I understand what you mean, and you should have a room in my house if I had one to spare, but a neighbour of mine has one on the ground floor, and if you will wait a moment I will go and speak to her.”

“You will oblige me very much.”

“Kindly step in here.”

I entered a poor room, where all seemed wretchedness, and I saw two children doing their lessons.  Soon after, the good woman came back and asked me to follow her.  I took several pieces of money from my pocket, and put them down on the only table which this poor place contained.  I must have seemed very generous, for the poor mother came and kissed my hand with the utmost gratitude.  So pleasant is it to do good, that now when I have nothing left the remembrance of the happiness I have given to others at small cost is almost the only pleasure I enjoy.

I went to a neighbouring house where a woman received me in an empty room, which she told me she would let cheaply if I would pay three months in advance, and bring in my own furniture.

“What do you ask for the three months’ rent?”

“Three Roman crowns.”

“If you will see to the furnishing of the room this very day I will give you twelve crowns.”

“Twelve crowns!  What furniture do you want?”

“A good clean bed, a small table covered with a clean cloth, four good chairs, and a large brazier with plenty of fire in it, for I am nearly perishing of cold here.  I shall only come occasionally in the morning, and I shall leave by noon at the latest.”

“Come at three o’clock, then, to-day, and you will find everything to your satisfaction.”

From there I went to the confessor.  He was a French monk, about sixty, a fine and benevolent-looking man, who won one’s respect and confidence.

“Reverend father,” I began, “I saw at the house of Abbe Momolo, ’scoptore santissimo’, a young girl named Mary, whose confessor you are.  I fell in love with her, and offered her money to try and seduce her.  She replied that instead of trying to lead her into sin I would do better to get her some charity tickets that she might be able to marry a young man who loved her, and would make her happy.  I was touched by what she said, but my passion still remained.  I spoke to her again, and said that I would give her two hundred crowns for nothing, and that her mother should keep them.