confessed freely to having chattered to him almost as to a friend—­the vendor of the golden bowl had acted on a scruple rare enough in vendors of any class, and almost unprecedented in the thrifty children of Israel.  He hadn’t liked what he had done, and what he had above all made such a “good thing” of having done; at the thought of his purchaser’s good faith and charming presence, opposed to that flaw in her acquestion which would make it, verily, as an offering to a loved parent, a thing of sinister meaning and evil effect, he had known conscientious, he had known superstitious visitings, had given way to a whim all the more remarkable to his own commercial mind, no doubt, from its never having troubled him in other connexions.  She had recognised the oddity of her adventure and left it to show for what it was.  She had not been unconscious, on the other hand, that if it hadn’t touched Amerigo so nearly he would have found in it matter for some amused reflection.  He had uttered an extraordinary sound, something between a laugh and a howl, on her saying, as she had made a point of doing:  “Oh, most certainly, he told me his reason was because he ‘liked’ me”—­though she remained in doubt of whether that inarticulate comment had been provoked most by the familiarities she had offered or by those that, so pictured, she had had to endure.  That the partner of her bargain had yearned to see her again, that he had plainly jumped at a pretext for it, this also she had frankly expressed herself to the Prince as having, in no snubbing, no scandalised, but rather in a positively appreciative and indebted spirit, not delayed to make out.  He had wished, ever so seriously, to return her a part of her money, and she had wholly declined to receive it; and then he had uttered his hope that she had not, at all events, already devoted the crystal cup to the beautiful purpose she had, so kindly and so fortunately, named to him.  It wasn’t a thing for a present to a person she was fond of, for she wouldn’t wish to give a present that would bring ill luck.  That had come to him—­so that he couldn’t rest, and he should feel better now that he had told her.  His having led her to act in ignorance was what he should have been ashamed of; and, if she would pardon, gracious lady as she was, all the liberties he had taken, she might make of the bowl any use in life but that one.

It was after this that the most extraordinary incident of all, of course, had occurred—­his pointing to the two photographs with the remark that those were persons he knew, and that, more wonderful still, he had made acquaintance with them, years before, precisely over the same article.  The lady, on that occasion, had taken up the fancy of presenting it to the gentleman, and the gentleman, guessing and dodging ever so cleverly, had declared that he wouldn’t for the world receive an object under such suspicion.  He himself, the little man had confessed, wouldn’t have minded—­about them; but he had