"I know him, dearest mother," said Theodore, emphatically. "If it were his custom to throw his first ideas upon a scrap of paper, it would be easy enough to discuss the matter with him; but he always prefers, first, to work up his subject in clay of the intended size; and he has, besides, particularly entreated that in this case he may be permitted to labour for a time without letting any one see it. That it depends upon your approval, he knows already." Then there ensued a pause, in which the rather excitedly-spoken words of the young man echoed disagreeably. Mary went to the piano and endeavoured to charm away the discord with music. Only with Theodore was it ineffectual. The simple ballad had no power over one in whose ear the maddening tones of the tambourine again awoke spectrally, and the echo of the marvellous song of the chorister overwhelmed the pure voice. He saw Bianchi's firm gaze fastened upon him, and heard again the words, "There will be a miracle performed!" And here, where he was now, all was strange, and tame, and wonderless. After the song, Mary seated herself again by his side. She spoke German to him; she asked about his amusements and his employments, about Bianchi. He talked absently, and thus half-confusedly, as if to himself, he told her about the osteria and the girl's dancing. As he glanced up from time to time, he marked a clouded tension over the delicate brows. The conversation between them died away. The father asked about English families, on which subject the guests talked eagerly. It was without interest to Theodore, and so he became again absorbed by his whirling thoughts. At last he departed. The strangers had taken up their residence with Mary's parents. It seemed to him as though he were doubly driven unhappy from this circle which once was his own--doubly--by himself and by others. CHAPTER V. Nowhere are impure inclinations, doubtful relationships, and undecided wishes more embarrassing and unbearable than in Rome. The vast _entourage_, replete with evidences of pure human vigour and firm will, is only to be endured, without envy and pain, by those who, in the narrow circle of their own actions, can feel certain of their own healthiness and rectitude of soul. He paced for hours up and down the banks of the Tiber before Bianchi's door, gazing over to where St. Peter's rose mightily above the broad masses of the Vatican.