Signor Fortini was a tall, thin, adust old man, with a large, well-developed forehead, a keen, bright hazel eye, and bristling, iron-grey hair, which had once been black, and a beard to match, which seemed as if the barber entrusted with the care of it were always two or three days in arrear with his work.  By some incomprehensible combination of circumstances it seemed as if Signor Fortini’s face were never seen fresh shaven.  His sharp chin and lanthorn jaws appeared to be perennially clothed with a two days’ old crop of grisly stubble,—­two days’ growth,—­neither more nor less!

Long years ago he had buried a childless wife, who was said to have been a wonderful beauty, and to have been in many ways a trouble greater than Signor Fortini knew how to manage, and a trial that made his life a burthen to him.  Those old troubles were now, however, long since past and gone; and Signor Fortini lived only for his law and his artistic and antiquarian collections.  He was like many of his peers in the provincial cities of the Papal dominions—­a great antiquary and virtuoso.  Antiquarianism is a “safe” pursuit under a government the nature of which makes and finds very many intellectual occupations unsafe.  And this may account for the fact, that very many competent historical antiquaries and collectors are found in the Pope’s territories among such men as Signor Fortini.

The son and grandson of thriving lawyers, who had for nearly an hundred years managed the affairs of the Chapter and the estates of the principal landed proprietors of the neighbourhood, was not likely to be otherwise than well off; and it was generally understood that Signor Fortini was a wealthy man.  He loudly protested on all occasions that this was a most mistaken notion; but there never occurred an opportunity of adding to his very remarkable collection of drawings of the old masters, or his unrivalled series of mediaeval seals, or his all but perfect library of the Municipal Statutes of the mediaeval Communes of Italy, which found Signor Fortini unprepared to outbid most competitors.

There were very few among his clients whom Signor Fortini would not have expected to call on him at his “studio,” instead of summoning him to wait on them.  But the Marchese di Castelmare was one of these few,—­perhaps as much, or more, on the score of old friendship as on that of rank and social importance.

The old lawyer was not more importantly occupied when he received the Marchese’s message, than by intently examining a bronze medal through a magnifying-glass; and he sent back word that he would be with the Marchese immediately.  The fact was he did not like the look of this summons at all.  He, too, had observed the unmistakable change in his old friend; and jumped to the conclusion that what he was wanted for was to make, or to be consulted about making, the Marchese’s will.