"No," said I, walking out of the shop; "you know my terms; if you agree to these, so much the better for you, if not, _Addio_," and off I walked. I had got about half way down the street when the man ran out after me. "Signor, only three hundred scudi; this is for the last time, think of that! It is a sin to let such a bargain slip." "No, no," said I, "not even for two hundred and ten. I have said two hundred scudi, and I even grudge that, yet if you will take it----" "Not even for two hundred and ten!" repeated the man. "O Gesu Maria!" added he, slapping his forehead. "You seem anxious to get rid of it, my friend," said I, half-quizzingly. "No, signor," replied he, "I can assure you it cuts me to the heart to part with such a gem, but I am a poor man with a large family, and I want money, otherwise I would not sell it for three times the amount." "Well, then, if you want money," said I, dryly, "the best thing you can do is to assent to my terms, for I shall certainly give no more." He seemed to reflect a little, and then with a shrug said: "_Ebbene_, as the signor wishes; but it is a dead loss to me; _you_, signor, are the winner, not I." So I paid him the money, and walked off with the ring on my finger the same that I wear to this day, gentlemen. Here it is. There is no doubt that it is a very excellent specimen of Graeco-Roman art, and is most elaborately cut. I have not the slightest doubt, however, that I paid enough and more than enough for it, for as I followed the man with my eyes, I noticed an avaricious chuckle on his face, as an Italian shopman may be supposed to wear at having bamboozled an Englishman. By this time my friend Rustcoin returned. I showed him my purchase, at which he went into raptures. I told him that I wished to visit the catacombs that morning, and therefore could not accompany him further. He advised me to wait till the morrow, and that we should go together, but I had inwardly vowed that morning that go I would, and nothing should prevent me; so telling Rustcoin that we should meet at dinner, I hailed a carriage and drove off to the church of St. Sebastian. It is a comparatively modern church, built upon the site of the ancient basilisk supposed to have been erected by Constantine, and consecrated by St. Silvester, was renewed by the Pope San Domaso, and since repeatedly restored, being at length rebuilt in the year 1611. On my arrival I found several carriages waiting outside. I entered the church, and there was a party of about a dozen English people, who had likewise come to visit the catacombs.