Sabina took her first fence that evening, for when she put out her candle she was sure that Malipieri was already her friend, and that she could trust him in any emergency.  Moreover, though she would not have acknowledged it, she inwardly hoped that some emergency might not be far in the future.

But Malipieri walked all the way from the Via Ludovisi to the Palazzo Conti, which is more than a mile, without noticing that he had forgotten to light the cigar he had taken out on leaving Volterra’s house.

CHAPTER VI

Malipieri had the Palazzo Conti to himself.  The main entrance was always shut now, and only a small postern, cut in one side of the great door, was left ajar.  The porter loafed about in the great court with his broom and his pipe; in the morning his wife went upstairs and opened a few windows, merely as a formality, and late in the afternoon she shut them again.  Malipieri’s man generally went out twice every day, carrying a military dinner-pail, made in three sections, which he brought back half an hour later.  Malipieri sometimes was not seen for several days, but frequently he went out in the morning and did not come back till dark.  Now and then, things were delivered for him at the door,—­a tin of oil for his lamps, a large box of candles, packages of odd shapes, sometimes very heavy, and which the porter was told to handle with care.

The old man tried to make acquaintance with Malipieri’s man, but found it less easy than he had expected.  In the first place, Masin came from some outlandish part of Italy where an abominable dialect was spoken, and though he could speak school Italian when he pleased, he chose to talk to the porter in his native jargon, when he talked at all.  He might just as well have spoken Greek.  Secondly, he refused the porter’s repeated offers of a litre at the wine shop, always saying something which sounded like a reference to his delicate health.  As he was evidently as strong as an ox, and as healthy as a savage or a street dog, the excuse carried no conviction.  He was a big, quiet fellow, with china-blue eyes and a reddish moustache.  The porter was not used to such people, nor to servants who wore moustaches, and was inclined to distrust the man.  On the other hand, though Masin would not drink, he often gave the porter a cigar, with a friendly smile.

One day, in the morning, Baron Volterra came to see Malipieri, and stayed over an hour, a part of which time the two men spent in the courtyard, walking up and down in the north-west corner, and then taking some measurements with a long tape which Malipieri produced from his pocket.  When the Baron went away he stopped and spoke with the porter.  First he gave him five francs; then he informed him that his wages would be raised in future by that amount; and finally he told him that Signor Malipieri was an architect and would superintend the repairs necessary