“I’ll take care that things shall be as you wish.  When is she to arrive?” asked Ludovico.

“About the end of the year—­in a month’s time or thereabouts.  Stadione did not mention whether the day of her coming had been fixed.  Her first appearance will be on the night of the Beffana, the 6th of January.”

“Because they were talking at the Circolo of getting up some little matter of welcome,—­taking the horses from her carriage, and drawing her in, or some thing of that kind, and a serenata of course.  Leandro is busy already with a poem for the occasion, you may swear!”

“Bravo! bene!  If only our good friend the Conte keeps his muse within tolerable limits!  It would not do to quite smother her in verse on her first arrival; and, you know, our good Leandro has rather a special gift that way.  Well, get up any kind of dimostrasione you like for the occasion,—­it will all help to give eclat to our opening.  You can arrange all about the when, and the where, etc., with Stadione.  We are going to have a meeting of the Belle Arte Committee here this morning.  They’ll be here directly!” said the Marchese Lamberto, pulling out his watch.

“One word more, uncle, before I’m off,” said Ludovico.

“What is it?—­money, I suppose?” said the Marchese, again taking out his watch.

“No, sir; not money this time,—­unless, indeed, you insist on it,” said the nephew, laughing.

“Not at all, not at all!  I won’t press it on you by any means!” said the uncle in a similar tone; “but what were you going to say?”

“Why, with reference to what you were saying just now, about the Signorina Foscarelli,” replied Ludovico, in quite a different tone.  “I am always anxious to shape my conduct in accordance with your advice, uncle.  You see La Foscarelli has all but finished her work at St. Vitale, you know:  she is to do her copying in the Cardinal’s Palace next, for you have kindly arranged for her permission to do so.  Now, she can’t very well go to the palace, for the first time, alone, you know!  If you had not expressed the opinions you have on the subject, I should have gone with her, thinking no harm.  But perhaps—­to the palace, you know;—­it would be better, if you would not mind it, to accompany her, for the first time, yourself.”

“Very right, very properly thought of, my dear boy!  Yes; I can go with her—­or I can send Burini, which will come to the same thing.”

“No, uncle; not the same thing—­to send a mere maestro di casa,—­a servant!  It would not be nice for the poor girl; it would make all the difference with the servants and people at the palace:  if I avoid going with her to please you, you will go with her yourself, won’t you?”

“Very well, very well; I’ll go with her.  If any man has more to do of his own than all the rest of the city put together, there are sure to be other folk’s at fairs thrust on him also; it has been so with me all my life.  Well, I will find half an hour somehow.”