"'Father,' I said, when he urged me to confess, 'pray shrive some one worthier than myself. But--if you must needs have a confession--I shall whisper into your holy ear so many interesting little episodes, so many spicy peccadillos, and--to enhance their interest--mention some names so high in the grace of God--'" "And the reverend father?" "Looked anathema and vanished"-- Basil paused for a moment, after which he continued with a sigh: "It is too late! The Church is to be purified. Not even the pale shade of Marozia will henceforth be permitted to haunt the crypts of Castel San Angelo--merely for the sake of decorum. There is nothing less well bred than memory!" For a moment they relapsed into silence, watching the shifting crowds, then Basil continued: "Compared with this virtuous boredom the last days of Ugo of Tuscany were a carnival. One could at least speed the travails of some one who required swift absolution." "Can you contrive to bring about this happy state?" queried Il Gobbo. "It is always the unexpurgated that happens," Basil replied sardonically. "I hope to advance in your school," Il Gobbo interposed with a smile. "I have long had you in mind. If you are in favor with yourself you will become an apt pupil. Remember! He who is dead is dead and long live the survivor." "In very truth, my lord, breath is the first and last thing we draw--" rejoined the bravo, evidently not relishing the thought that death might be standing unseen at his elbow. "Who would end one's days in odious immaculacy," Basil interposed grandiloquently, "even though you will not incur that reproach from those who know you from report, or who have visited your haunts? But to the point. There are certain forces at work in Rome which make breathing in this fetid air a rather cumbersome process." "I doubt me if they could teach your lordship any new tricks," Il Gobbo replied, somewhat dubiously. The Grand Chamberlain smiled darkly. "Good Il Gobbo, the darkest of my tricks you have not yet fathomed." "Perchance then the gust of rumor blows true about my lord's palace on the Pincian Hill?" "What say they about my palatial abode?" Basil turned suavely to the speaker. There was something in the gleam of his interrogator's eyes that caused Il Gobbo to hesitate. But his native insolence came to the rescue of his failing courage. "Ask rather, what do they not say of it, my lord! It would require less time to recite--" "Nevertheless, I am just now in a frame of mind to shudder soundly. These Roman nights, with their garlic and incense, are apt to befuddle the brain,--rob it of its power to plot. Perchance the recital of these mysteries would bring to mind something I have omitted." The bravo regarded the speaker with a look of awe.