likeness, for in his portrait the late Giovanni Battista appeared as a morose and gloomy brigand, after the style of Rinaldo Rinaldini! Signora Roselli herself had come from “the ancient and splendid city of Parma where there is the wonderful cupola, painted by the immortal Correggio!” But from her long residence in Germany she had become almost completely Germanised. Then she added, mournfully shaking her head, that all she had left was _this_ daughter and _this_ son (pointing to each in turn with her finger); that the daughter’s name was Gemma, and the son’s Emilio; that they were both very good and obedient children—especially Emilio … (“Me not obedient!” her daughter put in at that point. “Oh, you’re a republican, too!” answered her mother). That the business, of course, was not what it had been in the days of her husband, who had a great gift for the confectionery line … (“_Un grand uomo_!” Pantaleone confirmed with a severe air); but that still, thank God, they managed to get along! V Gemma listened to her mother, and at one minute laughed, then sighed, then patted her on the shoulder, and shook her finger at her, and then looked at Sanin; at last, she got up, embraced her mother and kissed her in the hollow of her neck, which made the latter laugh extremely and shriek a little. Pantaleone too was presented to Sanin. It appeared he had once been an opera singer, a baritone, but had long ago given up the theatre, and occupied in the Roselli family a position between that of a family friend and a servant. In spite of his prolonged residence in Germany, he had learnt very little German, and only knew how to swear in it, mercilessly distorting even the terms of abuse. “_Ferroflucto spitchebubbio_” was his favourite epithet for almost every German. He spoke Italian with a perfect accent—for was he not by birth from Sinigali, where may be heard “_lingua toscana in bocca romana_”! Emilio, obviously, played the invalid and indulged himself in the pleasant sensations of one who has only just escaped a danger or is returning to health after illness; it was evident, too, that the family spoiled him. He thanked Sanin bashfully, but devoted himself chiefly to the biscuits and sweetmeats. Sanin was compelled to drink two large cups of excellent chocolate, and to eat a considerable number of biscuits; no sooner had he swallowed one than Gemma offered him another—and to refuse was impossible! He soon felt at home: the time flew by with incredible swiftness. He had to tell them a great deal—about Russia in general, the Russian climate, Russian society, the Russian peasant—and especially about the Cossacks; about the war of 1812, about Peter the Great, about the Kremlin, and the Russian songs and bells. Both ladies had a very faint conception of our vast and remote fatherland; Signora Roselli, or as she was more often called, Frau Lenore, positively dumfoundered Sanin with the question, whether