voluntarily left his ovens to chat, and if Dorsenne gave the address of
the Marzocco to his cabman, it was in the hope that the old cook would in
his manner sketch for him the story of the ruin of Ardea. Brancadori was
standing by the bar where was enthroned his niece, Signorina Sabatina,
with a charming Florentine face, chin a trifle long, forehead somewhat
broad, nose somewhat short, a sinuous mouth, large, black eyes, an olive
complexion and waving hair, which recalled in a forcible manner the
favorite type of the first of the Ghirlandajos.

"Uncle," said the young girl, as soon as she perceived Dorsenne, "where
have you put the letter brought for the Prince?"

In Italy every foreigner is a prince or a count, and the profound good-
nature which reigns in the habit gives to those titles, in the mouths of
those who employ them, an amiability often free from calculation. There
is no country in the world where there is a truer, a more charming
familiarity of class for class, and Brancadori immediately gave a proof
of it in addressing as "Carolei"--that is to say, "my dear"--him whom his
daughter had blazoned with a coronet, and he cried, fumbling in the
pockets of the alpaca waistcoat which he wore over his apron of office:

"The brain is often lacking in a gray head. I put it in the pocket of my
coat in order to be more sure of not forgetting it. I changed my coat,
because it was warm, and left it with the letter in my apartments."

"You can look for it after lunch," said Dorsenne.

"No," replied the young girl, rising, "it is not two steps from here;
I will go. The concierge of the palace where your Excellency lives
brought it himself, and said it must be delivered immediately."