‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it is dear to me, too. You think it noisy, as all foreigners do, disturbing, clashing, shrill. Yet I often come and wander about in it, to find quiet and peace. Then I study it, and every time I study it it twines itself more firmly about my heart. The roots of my love for it strike deeper and more inextricably into my being. Sometimes I see its tragic side most plainly, sometimes its happier one, but always it is wonderful and fascinating and indescribable, as it always must be for those who can see more than the mere outside. My city was once the mistress of the world. Times are changed since then; she is barely mistress of herself now that she has choked and strangled the power of her tyrants. But she has done it, and that power will never lift its head again. I know that the same spirit is still in my countrymen as was in them when that was built.’ He looked up at the Pantheon, beside which they now emerged from a side-street. In less than five minutes they had climbed the stairs of Casa Dietrich, and stood within the hall. From the drawing-room was coming the usual evening clatter. On the hall-table stood a kind of infernal machine, miscalled a musical box, which, on being as it were fed with circular pieces of cardboard, riddled with holes and labelled with the names of different tunes--and on a handle being turned, ground forth the semblance of the said tunes. It formed an unfailing source of delight and recreation to at any rate the Italian portion of the company, one of whom was even now industriously turning the handle and producing a feeble and distorted version of the ‘Beautiful blue Danube’ waltzes--a performance which it made Minna shudder to hear. When the Italian boy saw them he waved his disengaged hand gaily, wished them good-evening, and asked if the music was not charming. In a distant dark corner a figure was gyrating gracefully all alone, humming the notes of the air. As they advanced into the hall, its movements ceased, it also came forward, smiling, and undulating still in its walk--it was the fallen patrician Ettore, who bowed himself before them, saying gently: ‘With the permission of the signorina yonder, I was diverting myself and practising my dancing at the same time. I also wished to be on the spot when the Signor Oriole should return, in order to tell him that the signora and the Signorina Fulvia arrived an hour ago, and desired to speak to him the instant he came in.’ ‘The signora has returned,’ repeated Signor Giuseppe, in a tone almost of bewilderment; and then, suddenly recovering himself: ‘Bene, bene! I will be with her in a moment.’ He turned to Minna with a face to which had returned, as she at once saw, all its old look of vexation and discontent, and with an effort wished her good-night. Then, as if wishful to get a bad business over as quickly as might be, he strode off in the direction of Signora Dietrich’s room, leaving Minna to go her own way. CHAPTER VII.