Malipieri protested that he was not famous, but agreed with Signor Bruni about other matters.  It was better to follow a serious pursuit than to do nothing with one’s life.

“Or to dash into politics,” suggested Bruni carelessly, as if he had thought of trying that.

Perhaps he had heard of Malipieri’s republican newspaper, but if he had thought of drawing the young man into conversation about it, he was disappointed.  Malipieri continued to agree with him, listening attentively to all he said without once looking bored.

“And now,” continued Bruni presently, “if it is not indiscreet, may I ask whether you have any new field of discovery in view?”

The phrases ran along as if they had been all prepared beforehand.  The accent was now decidedly Genoese, and Malipieri, who was a Venetian, disliked it.

“Not at present,” he said.  “I have undertaken a little professional work in Rome, and I am trying to learn more about the Phoenician language.”

“That is beyond me!” Bruni smiled pleasantly.

Malipieri looked at him a moment.

“If you are going to look into Carthaginian antiquities,” he said, with much gravity, “I strongly advise you to study Phoenician.”

“Dear me!” exclaimed Bruni with a sigh of regret, “I had hoped it might not be necessary.”

He rose to take his leave, but as if seeing the bookshelves for the first time, asked permission to look at their contents.  Malipieri saw that his glance ran sharply along the titles of the volumes, and that he was reading them as quickly as he could.

“I suppose you live here quite alone,” he said.

“Yes.  I have a servant.”

“Of course.  They tell me that Baron Volterra has not decided what he will do with the palace, and will not give a lease of it to any one.”

“I do not know what he means to do,” answered Malipieri, looking at the straight part down the back of his worthy visitor’s hair, as the latter bent to look at the books.

“I suppose he lends you this apartment, as a friend,” said Bruni.

“No.  I pay rent for it.”

Signor Bruni was becoming distinctly inquisitive, thought Malipieri, who answered coldly.  Possibly the visitor perceived the hint, for he now finally took his leave.  In spite of his protestations Malipieri went all the way downstairs with him, and let him out himself, just as the porter came out of his lodge at the sound of their footsteps.

Signor Bruni bowed a last time, and then walked briskly away.  By force of habit, the porter looked up and down the street before shutting the door after him, and he was somewhat surprised to see that the two men whom he had noticed half an hour earlier had only just finished their argument and turned to go on as Signor Bruni passed them.  Then the porter watched them all three till they disappeared round the corner.  At the same moment, from the opposite direction, Toto reached the door of the palace, and greeted the porter with a rough good-evening.