I must, of course, accommodate myself to the strange man, therefore did as I was desired, walking up and down the room, endeavouring at the same time to conceal, as much as I could, my inclination to the monastic gait, which, however, it is almost impossible for one by whom it has been thoroughly learned, even after many years, wholly to conquer. The little man contemplated me with great attention, then began to trip about the room. He sighed and shrugged, even panted and sobbed, then drew out his handkerchief, and wiped the drops from his forehead; at last he stood still, and I inquired "if he was yet resolved how he should operate?" Then, with a deep sigh, he broke out--"Alas, sir! what is the meaning of all this? You have not resigned yourself to your natural character. There was constraint in every movement--a conflict of contending principles. Yet, a few more steps, sir." Hereupon I absolutely refused to set myself up for show any longer in that manner, and told him plainly, that if he could not _now_ resolve what to make of my hair, I must refuse altogether to have anything to do with him or his art. "Bury thyself, Pietro!" cried the little man, with great fervour; "go to the grave, for in this world thou art wholly and utterly misunderstood. Here is no confidence, no truth any more to be found! "Yet, sir, you shall be compelled to acknowledge the depth of my perceptions, and do honour to my genius. In vain did I labour to amalgamate together all the contradictions and conflicts in your character and gestures. In the latter there is something that directly points at monachism. '_Ex profundis clamavi ad te, Domine. Oremus. Et in omnia secula seculorum!_'" With bitter scorn and mockery the man pronounced these words from the Ritual, in a hoarse croaking voice, imitating, at the same time, to the very life, the postures and gesture of a monk. He turned himself as if before the altar, he kneeled, and rose again. At last he stopped, drew himself up, and assumed a proud look of defiance, stared widely, and cried, "MINE is the world! I am more wealthy, more wise, prudent, and intelligent, than all of ye, ye blind moles! Bend, then, and kneel down before me, in humble submission! "Look you, sir, that which I have mentioned forms the chief attribute and ingredient in your appearance; and, with your permission, I shall, contemplating your features, your figure, and moods of mind, blend together something of Caracalla, Abelard, and Boccaccio; and proceeding on the idea thus gained, shall, like an inspired sculptor, begin the glorious creation of antique, ethereal, classic locks and curls!" Imperfect and ridiculous as the man's _expressions_ were, yet there was so much home _truth_ in his remarks, that I judged it best to conceal nothing from him; I therefore confessed that I had indeed been a monk, and had received the _tonsure_, which, for certain reasons, I now wished as much as possible to keep unobserved.