"By no means, my dear Signor," said Salvator, holding the old man fast. "You must not go. You could not possibly have come at a more convenient time, for, as you are a great honourer of the noble art of painting, it will give you no small joy when I present to you here Antonio Scacciati, the greatest painter of our time, whose glorious picture, the marvellous 'Magdalene at the Saviour's feet,' all Rome regards with the utmost enthusiasm. No doubt you are full of the picture, like the rest, and have been anxious to make the painter's acquaintance." The old man was seized by a violent trembling. He shook like one in the cold stage of a fever, sending, the while, burning looks of rage at Antonio; who, however, went up to him with easy courtesy, declaring that he thought himself fortunate to meet Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, whose profound knowledge of music, as well as of painting, not only Rome, but all Italy admired, and he recommended himself to his protection. It restored the old fellow to his self-control that Antonio treated him as if he met him for the first time, and addressed him in such flattering terms. He forced himself to a sort of simpering smile, and (Salvator having let go his hands) softly stroked the points of his moustaches heavenwards, stammered a few unintelligible words, and then turned to Salvator, whom he attacked on the subject of the payment of the ten ducats. "We will settle that every-day little affair afterwards," said Salvator. "First let it please you to look at the sketches which I have made for a picture, and, as you do so, to drink a glass of good Syracuse." Salvator placed his sketches on the easel, drew up a chair for the old gentleman, and, when he had seated himself, handed him a large, beautiful goblet, in which the noble Syracuse was sparkling. The old man was only too fond of a glass of good wine, when he had not to pay for it; and, moreover, as he was expecting to receive ten ducats for a worn-out, rickety spinett, and was seated before a boldly sketched-in picture, whose wonderful beauty he was quite capable of appreciating, he could not but feel exceedingly happy in his mind. This satisfaction he gave expression to, smirking quite pleasantly, stroking his chin and moustaches assiduously, half closing his eyes, and whispering, time after time, "Glorious! Precious!" without its clearly appearing whether he referred to the picture or to the wine. As he had now become quite friendly, Salvator said, suddenly: "Tell me, my dear sir, is it not the case that-you have a most beautiful niece, of the name of Marianna? All our young fellows are continually rushing to the Strada Ripetta, impelled by love-craziness. They give themselves cricks in the neck with gazing up at your balcony in the hope of seeing her, and catching a glance from her heavenly eyes."