theatre, where I saw Momolo's girls strutting about with Costa;
afterwards I went to Lord O'Callaghan, and was pleasantly surprised to
meet the poet Poinsinet. He was young, short, ugly, full of poetic fire,
a wit, and dramatist. Five or six years later the poor fellow fell into
the Guadalquivir and was drowned. He had gone to Madrid in the hope of
making his fortune. As I had known him at Paris I addressed him as an old
acquaintance.

"What are you doing at Rome? Where's my Lord O'Callaghan?"

"He's in the next room, but as his father is dead his title is now Earl
of Lismore. You know he was an adherent of the Pretender's. I left Paris
with him, well enough pleased at being able to come to Rome without its
costing me anything."

"Then the earl is a rich man now?"

"Not exactly; but he will be, as he is his father's heir, and the old
earl left an immense fortune. It is true that it is all confiscated, but
that is nothing, as his claims are irresistible."

"In short, he is rich in claims and rich in the future; but how did he
get himself made a knight of one of the French king's orders?"

"You're joking. That is the blue ribbon of the Order of St. Michael, of
which the late Elector of Cologne was grand master. As you know, my lord
plays exquisitely on the violin, and when he was at Bonn he played the
Elector a concerto by Tartini. The prince could not find words in which
to express the pleasure of my lord's performance, and gave him the ribbon
you have seen."