ready money, though they still lived as if they were rich. This did
not matter to their friends, but was a source of constant anxiety to
their creditors, and to the good Pompeo Sassi, the steward of the
ruined estate. He alone knew what the Conti owed, for none of them
knew much about it themselves, though he had done his best to make the
state of things clear to them.

The big porter of the palace was sweeping the pavement of the great
entrance, as the cab drove in. He wore his working clothes of grey
linen with silver buttons bearing the ancient arms of his masters, and
his third best gold-laced cap. There was nothing surprising in this,
at such an early hour, and as he was a grave man with a long grey
beard that made him look very important, the lady who drove up in the
open cab did not notice that he was even more solemn than usual. When
she appeared, he gave one more glance at the spot he had been
sweeping, and then grounded his broom like a musket, folded his hands
on the end of the broomstick and looked at her as if he wondered what
on earth had brought her to the palace at that moment, and wished that
she would take herself off again as soon as possible.

He did not even lift his cap to her, yet there was nothing rude in his
manner. He behaved like a man upon whom some one intrudes when he is
in great trouble.

The Baroness was rather more exigent in requiring respect from
servants than most princesses of the Holy Roman Empire, for her
position in the aristocratic scale was not very well defined.

She was not pleased, and spoke with excessive coldness when she asked
if Donna Clementina was at home. The porter stood motionless beside