Thus the time passed, and it was evening, and then night, almost before she knew it. She had not done an hour’s work throughout the day. She had taken the coverings from the clay cast which she was now modelling, and looked at it, and had given it a touch here and there, but without effecting anything real. The old woman who acted as portress downstairs, and who waited upon her on these occasions, as much as she required waiting upon, had brought her in some dinner from a _trattoria_, of which the residue, given to old Filomena, caused the poor creature’s eyes to glisten and blessings to fall from her lips. Filomena had now gone away, and Minna was left to solitude and her own thoughts. She had lighted a lamp and put a shade over it. She had drawn her chair up towards the stove, and leaning back, with hands clasped loosely on her knee, she looked into the glow of the red-hot wood, and watched the flame which occasionally shot forth and then died down again. Her reverie was profound, and not altogether joyful. She was roused from it by a sharp, decided knock upon the door. ‘Hans--he need not have come, I don’t want him,’ she thought, frowning, and then cried, ‘Avanti!’ The door was opened, and she beheld, not Hans, but Signor Giuseppe. She was surprised, and not altogether pleased, for she felt sure that the interview would be more or less painful. Yet she could not feel vexed; she tried to account to herself for her mixed sensations by telling herself, ‘It will be a bore, and very disagreeable, but perhaps it is best to get it over on neutral ground.’ All this flashed quickly through her mind as, after a hardly perceptible hesitation, she rose and said: ‘Signor Oriole!’ ‘Good-evening, signora,’ he said, bowing as he advanced into the room. ‘I knew you were at your studio, and, as I am wishful to speak to you, I have taken the freedom of calling here. If I disturb you or my visit is inconvenient, you will at once send me away. I shall not be offended.’ This Signor Giuseppe was as different from the Signor Giuseppe who was engaged at Casa Dietrich as one man could possibly be from another. It is true, this man had the same outward appearance as the other, the same shabby dress, whose shabbiness was at present somewhat concealed by a comparatively new and good overcoat, and a respectable hat, held in his hand. But beyond this, all was different. This was a gentleman of polite and gracious manner, dignified, but genial withal--a gentleman who met her on terms of equality, and whose apology was made more for form’s sake than because he felt such apology to be needful. It was an unspeakable relief to Minna to find him thus disposed, and she replied with cordiality as she extended her hand: ‘Indeed, signore, I am too glad that you care to come and pay me a visit here. If I had had the least idea that you would have taken so much trouble, I would have invited you before. You are welcome here.’