The latter opened the antique piece of furniture, which was composed of ebony, ivory, and silver; the pillars, carving, and figures, being all equally elaborate and beautiful. He brought forth from its dark recesses two flasks, or silver vases, of ample dimensions. Each had a small mouth rising from a tall and taper neck; one was closed by a red, the other by a green crystal stopper. Their workmanship was exquisite, but I doubted if the contents were so. Grapes, bacchanals, and nymphs appeared in rich embossage, and a shield on each side bore a coat of arms deeply engraved. Belcastro’s dark eyes flashed, but I thought it was with pride, as he pushed the massive flasks towards us, saying— "These were made by Cellini, the famous Florentine, for Pope Clement VII., and when Rome was sacked by the Constable de Bourbon, an ancestor of mine, who served with his vassals under the papal banner, picked them up in the confusion." Baptistello placed the vases officiously before Castelermo, whispering to us hastily but audibly the ill-omened words— "_La bella-donna!_" Marco’s cheek flushed, and I started, on observing that Varro’s usually swart visage was pale as death. "The vases are indeed superb," said my companion, turning them round with an air of unconcern; which I had some trouble in imitating, feeling certain that a catastrophe was at hand. "Beautiful, truly, and I doubt not that Clement of holy memory prized them highly, and regretted their loss in an equal degree." "I have goblets to match, said to be made from part of the treasure stolen by the same cunning sculptor from the castle of St. Angelo. Bring them forth, Baptistello." The servant, after searching for a time in the depths of the cabinet, declared that the goblets were not there. "Not there, said you? Satan! they have been stolen; and if so, your bare back shall feel a stripe of the scurlada for every bajoccho they were worth!" cried Belcastro passionately, as he started up and flung open the doors of the cabinet. "Admirable!" muttered Castelermo, changing the crystal stoppers, and receiving a keen glance from Varro, the moment our host’s back was turned. "Be still," he added, grasping my arm energetically, "be patient—our lives are hanging by a hair." "Saved—buono—O, Gran Dio!" added Varro. "You must be either blind or drunk, Varro, or have the eyes of a mole, for here are the cups," said the cavaliere, placing three silver-chased tankards on the table. "You may retire now—we need you no more," and our friend retired, but only to the hall-door.