RODERICK HUDSON
"I obey, dear lady," said the Cavaliere; and with another salutation to Rowland he departed, walking very discreetly on his toes. Rowland outstayed him but a short time, his appetite for Mrs. Light's conversation being small; he found nothing very inspiring in her frank intimation that if he chose he might become a favourite. He was disgusted with himself for pleasing her; he repudiated any such intention. In the courtyard of the palace he overtook the Cavaliere, who had stopped at the porter's lodge to say a word to this functionary's little girl. She was a young lady of very tender years and she wore a very dirty pinafore. He had taken her up in his arms to sing her an infantine rhyme, while she stared at him with big deep Roman eyes. On seeing Rowland he put her down with a kiss, then stepped forward with a conscious grin, an unresentful admission that he was sensitive both to infant beauty and to ridicule. Rowland began to pity him again; he had taken his dismissal from the drawing-room so meekly.
"You don't keep your promise to come and see me. But please don't forget it. I want you to tell me about Rome thirty years ago."
"Thirty years ago? Ah, dear sir, Rome is Rome still; a place where strange things happen! But happy things too, since I have your renewed permission to call. You do me too much honour. Is it in the morning or in the evening that I should least intrude?"
"Take your own time, Cavaliere; only come some time. I depend upon you," said Rowland.
The Cavaliere thanked him with formal obeisance. To old Giacosa too he felt that he was, in Roman
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