Malipieri was inclined to think he had never met Bruni, but somehow
the latter recalled the hot times in Milan, and his short political
career, and the association was not to the man's advantage. He could
not recall the name at all. It was like any other, and rather
especially unobtrusive. Anybody might be called Vittorio Bruni, and
Vittorio Bruni might be anybody, from a senator to a shoemaker; but if
he had been a senator, or any political personage, Malipieri would
have heard of him.

There was something very odd, too, about his knowledge of Carthaginian
antiquities, which was entirely limited to the contents of Malipieri's
own pamphlets. He knew nothing of the Egyptians and very little about
the Greeks, beyond what Malipieri had necessarily written about both.
He had talked much as a man does who has read up an unfamiliar subject
in order to make a speech about it, and though the speech is skilful,
an expert can easily detect the shallowness of attainment behind it.

There could be only one reason why any one should take so much
trouble; the object was evidently to make Malipieri's acquaintance, in
the absence of an ordinary introduction. And yet Signor Bruni had
quite forgotten to give his card with his address, as almost any
Italian would have done under the circumstances, whether he expected
the meeting to be followed by another or not. Malipieri spent most of
his time in his rooms, but he knew very well that he might go about
Rome for weeks and not come across the man again.

He recalled the whole conversation. He had in the first place expected
that Bruni would be inquisitive about the palace, and perhaps ask to
be shown over it, but it was only at the last that he had put one or
two questions which suggested an interest in the building, and then he