‘That is the high-art side of the room,’ said Hans, kindly explaining. ‘Art, love and grief, the piano, the “Sposi” and the desolate mother--you see the connection, I doubt not. Here is the frivolous, or society department.’ He pointed where a stove reared itself, where the sofas and easy-chairs, all more or less dingy-looking, congregated, and where, on the walls, was a great collection of photographic likenesses of ladies and gentlemen, in every variety of posture, size, and costume, but mostly, as here represented, uninteresting, to use the mildest term. In addition to these were hung up all kinds of rubbish in the shape of little fancy baskets, boxes with handles, trumpery ‘ornamental’ cases and bottles, and unclassable, unusable trash of every description. The wall-paper, against which were hung these gems of art and fancy, was of a brilliant yellow; the carpet, now faded, had once been dazzlingly, agonizingly variegated. The ruling _motif_, as it were, of the furniture colour was of a deep, full rose, with a suspicion of magenta in it. It had been also mercifully dimmed by time and having been sat upon by the boarders of many seasons. Minna looked round this _salon_ with a slow, scrutinizing, comprehensive glance, taking it all in, nodding her head mournfully now and then, as she recognised with experienced eye some decoration, some ornament, or some piece of furniture common to this class of establishment. ‘Yes,’ said Hans, laughing; ‘it is bad, I know; but it is Rome. Because she has been first in everything--art and beauty included, therefore--you know what I would say!’ ‘Yes,’ Minna assented; ‘it is her curse now, of course.’ She seated herself in one of the dingy easy-chairs, Hans in another, and after they had been talking together for a little time they became aware of a series of lusty thumps and bangs, apparently on different doors, which knocks gradually approached nearer to where they were, till at last the door was flung open, and Ettore cried, much as ‘Ready’ is cried when the guard whistles and the train starts, ‘Lunch is ready,’ and disappeared. In ten minutes the entire company then staying at Casa Dietrich had assembled in the dining-room, and were discussing their lunch, or _colazione_, and the day’s doings or the morrow’s doings, with a loud rattle of knives and forks, a clashing of plates and dishes, and a consumption of thin red wine such as was going on at that same hour in dozens of _pensioni_ and hotels all over the great city.