"There you are quite mistaken," said Vittoria, still eagerly hunting up the passage, "St. Paul knew something about everything, for he was a great genius and an eminently practical man, besides being a holy apostle. This is what he says--'Dare any of you, having a matter against another, go to law before the unjust, and not before the saints?... I speak to your shame. Is it so, that there is not a wise man among you? No? Not one, that shall be able to judge between his brethren? But brother goeth to law with brother, and that before the unbelievers! Now, therefore, there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another. Why do ye not rather take wrong? Why do not ye rather suffer yourselves to be defrauded?'" "That is very fine for St. Paul to say," said Giulia. "I wonder how he would have liked it himself." "Giulia! you must not say such things as that. It is wicked." "Why, to hear you talk, one would think it was I who wanted to go to law with Isabella; whereas, it is Isabella who wants to go to law with _me_!" And Giulia began to cry. "Nobody is so unfortunate as I," said she. "I pity you," said Vittoria, "but I own I think you are blameworthy." "In what?" "In your spirit." "Why, what would you do in my place?" "I would not write to the Pope." "That's what you would _not_ do. What would you do?" "Settle it by amicable agreement." "But Isabella will not be amicable!" "If she will not, that is _her_ fault." "Certainly! And so it is her fault." "Well, my dear Giulia, I would not trouble myself so for all the pearls and diamonds in the world. What are they, but so much dust? If you throw them into a crucible, they will lose all their beauty, and--" "So should I, if you put _me_ into a crucible," said Giulia, beginning to laugh; and her own little joke did more to make her see the bright side of things than all her cousin's wise saws. "I know what I'll do," said she. "I'll write to Ferrante." Ferrante was her only surviving brother. "Ah, that is a good thought," said Vittoria. "He will be sure to help you." So the Duchess wrote to Don Ferrante; and when Don Ferrante's answer came, which was not within a fortnight, he told her he was sorry to find she was embroiling herself again with her husband's relations; a contentious spirit was worse than a continual dropping: he feared she had had a little too much prosperity and petting: misfortunes were the lot of all, and it was vain to repine because a rose-leaf was doubled on our couch, &c., &c., &c. Think how many people were a great deal worse off, &c., &c., &c. Clearly, there was no comfort to be had from Don Ferrante. So Giulia, getting another aggravating letter from Isabella, consulted the best lawyers in Naples; who advised her not to answer her, but to leave them to conduct the correspondence (for a consideration).