“Ecco! A most proper man: and stumbled on most promptly the very hour we wanted him. As for you, I trust that Marianna has laughed you out of your scruples.” “She has surely laughed enough at me. How convinced I am I dare not say. Enough that she has just promised to go with me to a late supper party at Messere Chigi’s: and now I must hurry to my own palazzo in order to dress in a manner not to disgrace her.” “Donna Venus bless you, my children!” cried the good man; “how gay you are together. I feared I was about to have a stupid evening with my books, but His Holiness has summoned me to join him at his cards. Then perhaps, ere we go to bed, we can hear from Orosi.” Which surmise came true, though not as His Eminence expected. CHAPTER III THE FEAST AT THE VILLA FARNESINA My own chambers were on a quiet street near Messere Raffaello’s lodgings at the Palazzo dei Convertendi. On the walk I had time to reflect that ere actually embracing a career in the Church I ought to write to my father’s friend, the Senator Contarini of Venice, for his opinion as to my chances of advancement at the French court. “Surely,” I considered, “Marianna must realize that I cannot marry her if I am to seek a secular career. A cardinal’s daughter is all very well, but she is not a countess; while if I become a churchman everything will go on as now, and my money will still be just as useful to her and to Forli. And why should I take holy orders just to humor them?” Amid such reflections I came to my palazzo. Although Messere Chigi had invited us to “a very simple supper,” I knew I ought not to ignore my toilet. All the world was aware that the Chigis were brothers to Croesus and Crassus, that their banks covered the Levant, that twenty thousand men manned their argosies, and that barring the Fuggers of Augsburg, no mortals had more ready money to lend to King or Pope. Accordingly, I let Andrea and my second and third valets dress me with some carefulness; and as I paused before the glass while Andrea gave me a finishing touch of civet, I told myself I would make a tolerable figure. My Milanese tailor had provided a gray suit which set my unimposing figure to good advantage,--with a genteel fulness at the sleeves, and fashionable slashes at the hips. Fine French lace at my throat, a gold chain of curious carving, a couple of antique cameo rings, and some excellent Venetian chasing upon my silver hilt and scabbard,--these would make people say, “His Excellency the Conte knows how to dress.” My own face was too familiar for me to observe keenly, yet I remember thinking that with my black hair and mustache, I certainly passed for an Italian gentleman, not for the heir of as old a German house as could be found in the rolls of nobility at Vienna.