“No, signore,” replies the proprietor gloomily. “We had them, but they were sold yesterday.” “Ah,” says the customer in disappointment. He starts as though to go; and then, as an afterthought, he picks up a bronze mortar and weighs it meditatively. “This little thing, now,” he ventures. “The price unquestionably is prohibitive, eh?” “A very fine thing, very old and very fine,” says the dealer, examining it appreciatively. “And very cheap, signore; very cheap. Four hundred lire only, signore.” The signore laughs loudly and bitterly and turns away with a shudder. “Cheap!” he ejaculates in scornful tones, “Cheap! You mistake me for two millionaires. Madonna! What a price! For such a thing as that good-for-nothing imitation in the corner, that pretended Pope’s head, you would probably charge such an impossible price as one hundred lire!” “Hah!” says the dealer, staring carefully at the customer. “Hah!” Then he goes over to the corner and looks at the Pope’s head as though he were seeing it for the first time. “Signore,” he says solemnly, “this is a very fine and very rare piece. It is an historical piece. I will sell it for one tenth of its value.” “Ah, true?” asks the customer sarcastically. “And what is that, signore?” “Six hundred lire, signore,” replies the dealer calmly. “Body of Bacchus!” gasps the customer, as though he had been mortally wounded. “Six hundred lire! Are you mad, signore? It is robbery! The thing is good for nothing! It would be dear at sixty lire!” “Signore,” declares the dealer earnestly, “your words are an insult. That Pope is worthy of a museum. Look at it, signore! In the large establishments you would pay six thousand lire for it. Signore, I am experienced in the buying and selling of antiques. In selling it at six hundred lire, I am giving it away.” The customer shakes his head pityingly. “Poor little one,” says he, “that Pope’s head is a forgery. It probably cost six lire. In buying it at all you must have fallen among thieves.” “Signore, it is not true,” says the dealer indignantly. “It is a gift at six hundred lire.” “Pah!” says the customer, wagging his extended thumb and forefinger at the level of his ear to signify utter contempt and disbelief. “Then what will you give, signore?” demands the proprietor in exasperation. “Name me a fair price and let us speak about it.” “No,” says the customer, “I do not want it. Your prices, signore, would make a cow weep.” “Then name me a price,” insists the proprietor. “Come, name it and let me hear.” “Sixty lire!” shouts the customer defiantly. “Sixty lire!” wails the proprietor. “Presence of the Devil, signore, I paid five hundred lire for that object. I am a poor man, signore, and the thief of a Government takes everything away in taxes—the luxury tax and the tax for the wounded and the export tax. One must live. Come, signore, give me five hundred and fifty lire and take it.”