"Sicuro!" Vanni's voice was stirred. "All save the eyes--of the English blue. And when Monsieur sees his gallery of portraits, he will feel at home! Monsieur le Marquis is like his famous ancestor--that Giordano Maramonte, the hero of Montaperti, who led in the capture of the Carroccio of Firenze ... And there is a look of the Marchese Cesare--who went down to fame for his attack on the Citadel. He drove the Spaniards out of Siena--that was before the last great siege..." His words poured on. He was plainly lost in the history of the house he served, back in those war-like days of the past when great names testified to greater deeds. McTaggart realized he had touched on a hobby. "Tell me all about my family." He leaned back, happy, and lit a cigarette while the old man drew with lightning gestures on his absorbing hoard of knowledge. Of Guelph and Ghibeline intrigue, of wars with Spain and Florentine raids; of Popes and Emperors, Patriots, Tyrants; of the endless strife between the nobles and people; of the "Sacrifice of the Useless Mouths" and the Plague that ran like a burning flame. So enthralled was McTaggart that the time passed on flying wings until, at length, the train swept into the last noisy tunnel. Vanni started. He glanced at his watch. "Ecco Siena!"--and, at the words, a curious thrill ran through his listener of excitement tinged with awakened pride. For the vast part his house had played in the wars and government of the city, their reckless heroism and careless prodigality had thrown a new light of fiery romance on this inheritance of his. With it was blent an odd shrinking, the nervousness of the Englishman before the customs and conventions alien to his normal life. The train emerged, lights twinkled. The long journey was accomplished. CHAPTER XV Signor Vanni, full of importance and inwardly delighted at the accident which had placed the hero of the hour in his hands, gathered up his portfolio and descended nimbly on to the platform with a suave: "If Monsieur le Marquis will deign to wait?" He was off, crying lustily for the station-master. McTaggart drew out his watch. It was nearly four o'clock. He felt hungry but his weariness had passed, killed by his present sense of excitement. The air, crisp and sweet, blew in his face like frozen honey, the night was still; and through the dark he could just make out the sheltering walls rising black and sheer with a crenellated edge against the indigo of the sky, where a single luminous star was poised. The lawyer returned with a bowing superintendent, two bowing servants and a bowing porter. McTaggart's cap was busy again as the little group fussed about him. He found himself at last in a vast landau, the lawyer facing him, two men on the box and a third individual mounted behind on a narrow platform between the wheels. "Like the Lord Mayor!" he said to himself and checked a wild desire to laugh.