“Yes, of course, but that is mere money!” said the old gentleman somewhat hastily, but contemptuously withal.  “Gratitude proceeds from the heart, not from the purse.  When I think of all the work you have done, of the unselfish way in which you have devoted yourself to this object, I feel that money can never repay you.  Money is sordid trash, Meschini, sordid trash!  Let us not talk about it.  Are we not friends?  The most delicate sensibilities of my soul rejoice when I consider what we have accomplished together.  There is not another man in Rome whom I would trust as I trust you, most faithful of men!”

“The Signor Principe is too kind,” replied Meschini.  “Nevertheless, I repeat that I am quite unworthy of such gratitude for having merely performed my part in a business transaction, especially in one wherein my own interests were so deeply concerned.”

“My only regret is that my son-in-law can never know the share you have had in his success.  But that, alas, is quite impossible.  How, indeed, would it be practicable to inform him!  And my daughter, too!  She would remember you in all her innocent prayers, even as I shall do henceforth!  No, Meschini, it is ordained that I, and I alone, should be the means of expressing to you the heartfelt thanks of those whom you have so highly benefited, but who unfortunately can never know the name of their benefactor.  Tell me now, did the men of the law look long at the documents?  Did they show any hesitation?  Have you any reason to believe that their attention was roused, arrested by—­by the writing?”

“No, indeed!  I should be a poor workman if a parcel of lawyers could detect my handwriting!”

“It is a miracle!” exclaimed Montevarchi, devoutly.  “I consider that heaven has interposed directly to accomplish the ends of justice.  An angel guided your hand, my dear friend, to make you the instrument of good!”

“I am quite ready to believe it.  The transaction has been as providential for me as for the Signor Marchese.”

“Yes,” answered the prince rather drily.  “And now, my dear Meschini, will you leave me for a time?  I have appointed this hour to see my last remaining daughter concerning her marriage.  She is the last of those fair flowers!  Ah me!  How sad a thing it is to part with those we love so well!  But we have the consolation of knowing that it is for their good, that consolation, that satisfaction which only come to us when we have faithfully done our duty.  Return to your library, therefore, Meschini, for the present.  The consciousness of good well done is yours also to-day, and will soothe the hours of solitude and make your new labours sweet.  The reward of righteousness is in itself and of itself.  Good-bye, my friend, good-bye!  Thank you, thank you—­”

“Would it be agreeable to your Excellency to let me have the money now?” asked the librarian.  There was a firmness in the tone that startled Montevarchi.