large doors, black doors touched with faded gilding; there were oil lamps burning, their pale light fell on the marble of S. Michael, with the fiend conquered at his feet.
By hazard Saturnino flung open the nearest door to him, and thrust back the curtain of gilded leather that hung behind it. The chamber within was an antechamber, spacious, but well warmed by a bronze brazier in its centre; here several lacqueys in liveries of purple and white were lounging at their ease in idleness.
Some stared, some started up at sight of the strange figure of this Campagna shepherd, as he looked to them, standing on the threshold, with one hand putting back the gilded Cordovan leather of the curtain.
He called to them in a loud voice: 'Go, tell your master I am here; I, Saturnino Mastarna. Say that I bid him for old friendships sake come out for a word with me.'
There was something in his tone, something in his look, which awed into silence the arrogant and impudent words with which they were always ready to greet and turn away one of the populace; to them, all Roman youngsters as they were, the name
