To the casual eyes of tourists the country was still as picturesquely, raggedly gay as ever. There were perhaps more beggars on the church steps, and their appeal for bread was a trifle more insistent; but for people interested only in Italy’s galleries and ruins and shops the changes were not marked. But those who did understand, who cared for the future of the nation, who saw the seething below the surface, were passing through a phase of disillusionment and doubt. And Laurence Sybert was one who both understood and cared. He saw the direction in which the country was drifting even better perhaps than the Italians themselves. He looked on in a detached, more remote fashion, not so swept by the current as those who were in the stream. But if he were detached in fact—by accident of his American parentage and citizenship—in feelings he was with the Italians heart and soul. The consul-general remained some minutes silently studying the younger man’s expressive back—irritation, obstinacy, something stronger, appeared in every line of his squared shoulders—then he rose and walked across to the window. ‘See here, Sybert,’ he said bluntly, ‘I’m your friend, and I don’t want to see you doing anything foolish. I know where your sympathies are; and if the rest of us looked into the matter with our eyes open, it’s possible ours would be on the same side. But that’s neither here nor there; we couldn’t do any good, and you can’t, either. You must think of your own position—you are secretary of the American Embassy and nephew of the ambassador. In common decency it won’t do to exhibit too much sympathy with the enemies of the Italian government. You say yourself that you don’t want to see a revolution. Then it’s your duty, in the interests of law and order, to do all you can to suppress it.’ ‘Oh, I’m willing to do all I can toward relieving the suffering and quieting the people; but when it comes to playing the police spy and getting these poor devils jailed for twenty years because they’ve shouted, “Down with Savoy!” I refuse.’ Melville shrugged. ‘That part of the business can be left to the secret police; they’re capable of handling it.’ ‘I don’t doubt that,’ Sybert growled. ‘Your business is merely to aid in pacifying the people and to raise subscriptions for buying food. You are in with the wealthy foreigners, and can get money out of them easier than most.’ ‘I suppose that means I am to bleed Copley?’ ‘I dare say he’ll be willing enough to give; it’s in his line. Of course he’s a friend, and I don’t like to say anything. I know he had nothing to do with getting up the wheat deal; but it’s all in the family, and he won’t lose by it. The corner is playing the deuce with Italy, and it’s his place to help a bit.’ ‘What is playing the deuce with Italy is an extravagant government and crushing taxes and dead industries. The wheat famine is bad enough; but that isn’t the main trouble, and you know it as well as I do.’