A young man in violet stockings passed us.
"That is one of our modern patricians," said Don Ottavio. "Wretched livery! and it will be mine in a few months! What happiness," he added after a moment's silence — "what happiness to live in a country like yours! If I were French I might perhaps one day have become a deputy."
This high ambition made me feel strongly inclined to laugh, and as the Abbe noticed it, I had to explain that we were talking of the error of an archæologist who mistook a statue by Bernini for an antique.
We dined at the Aldobrandi palace. Directly after the coffee the Marquise asked me to excuse her son, who was obliged to retire to his room to fulfil certain pious duties. I remained alone with her, and the Abbe Negroni leant back in his chair and slept the sleep of the just.
In the meantime the Marquise interrogated me minutely about my father, about Paris, as to my past life, and on my future plans. She seemed to me a good and amiable woman, but rather too inquisitive and overmuch concerned about my salvation. But she spoke Italian perfectly, and I took a lesson in pronunciation from her which I promised myself I would repeat.
