express his hatred in a stinging satire without being found out.

Like every real Roman, Marzio thought of old Marforio as he strolled up
the narrow street towards the Capitol, and regretted the lawless days of
conspiracy and treacherous deeds when every man's hand was against his
fellow. He wandered on, his eyes cast down, and his head bent. Some one
jostled against him, walking quickly in the opposite direction. He
looked up and recognised Gasparo Carnesecchi's sallow face and long
nose.

"Eh! Sor Marzio--is it you?" asked the lawyer.

"I think so," answered the artist. "Excuse me, I was thinking of
something."

"No matter. Of what were you thinking, then? Of Pasquino?"

"Why not? But I was thinking of something else. You are in a hurry, I am
sure. Otherwise we would speak of that affair."

"I am never in a hurry when there is business to be treated," replied
Carnesecchi, looking down the street and preparing to listen.

"You know what I mean," Marzio began. "The matter we spoke of two days
ago--my plans for my daughter."

The lawyer glanced quickly at his friend and assumed an indifferent
expression. He was aware that his position, was socially superior to
that of the silver-chiseller, in spite of Marzio's great talent. But he
knew also that Lucia was to have a dowry, and that she would ultimately