When he was gone, there was silence in the room for some few minutes.
Then the journalist burst into a loud laugh.

"If we only had half a dozen fellows like that in the Chambers, all
talking at once!" he cried.

"They would be kicked into the middle of Montecitorio in a quarter of an
hour," answered the thin voice of the lawyer. "Our friend Marzio is
slightly mad, but he is a good fellow in theory. In practice that sort
of thing must be dropped into public life a little at a time, as one
drops vinegar into a salad, on each leaf. If you don't, all the vinegar
goes to the bottom together, and smells horribly sour."

While Marzio was holding forth to his friends, the family circle in the
Via dei Falegnami was enjoying a very pleasant evening in his absence.
The Signora Pandolfi presided at supper in a costume which lacked
elegance, but ensured comfort--the traditional skirt and white cotton
jacket of the Italian housewife. Lucia wore the same kind of dress, but
with less direful effects upon her appearance. Gianbattista, as usual
after working hours, was arrayed in clothes of fashionable cut, aiming
at a distant imitation of the imaginary but traditional English tourist.
A murderous collar supported his round young chin, and a very
stiffly-constructed pasteboard-lined tie was adorned by an exquisite
silver pin of his own workmanship--the only artistic thing about him.

Besides these members of the family, there was a fourth person at
supper, the person whom, of all others, Marzio detested, Paolo Pandolfi,
his brother the priest, commonly called Don Paolo. He deserves a word of
description, for there was in his face a fleeting resemblance to Marzio,