The door opened, when a noble little boy bounded into the room; followed by a little girl in pink and white, like a streamer in the steps of her brother. With shouts, and with arms thrown forward, they flung themselves upon Vittoria, the boy claiming all her lap, and the girl struggling for a share of the kingdom. Vittoria kissed them, crying, 'No, no, no, Messer Jack, this is a republic, and not an empire, and you are to have no rights of "first come"; and Amalia sits on one knee, and you on one knee, and you sit face to face, and take hands, and swear to be satisfied.' 'Then I desire not to be called an English Christian name, and you will call me Giacomo,' said the boy. Vittoria sang, in mountain-notes, 'Giacomo!--Giacomo--Giac-giac-giac . . como!' The children listened, glistening up at her, and in conjunction jumped and shouted for more. 'More?' said Vittoria; 'but is the Signor Carlo no friend of ours? and does he wear a magic ring that makes him invisible?' 'Let the German girl go to him,' said Giacomo, and strained his throat to reach at kisses. 'I am not a German girl,' little Amalia protested, refusing to go to Carlo Ammiani under that stigma, though a delightful haven of open arms and knees, and filliping fingers, invited her. 'She is not a German girl, O Signor Giacomo,' said Vittoria, in the theatrical manner. 'She has a German name.' 'It's not a German name!' the little girl shrieked. Giacomo set Amalia to a miauling tune. 'So, you hate the Duchess of Graatli!' said Vittoria. 'Very well. I shall remember.' The boy declared that he did not hate his mother's friend and sister's godmother: he rather liked her, he really liked her, he loved her; but he loathed the name 'Amalia,' and could not understand why the duchess would be a German. He concluded by miauling 'Amalia' in the triumph of contempt. 'Cat, begone!' said Vittoria, promptly setting him down on his feet, and little Amalia at the same time perceiving that practical sympathy only required a ring at the bell for it to come out, straightway pulled the wires within herself, and emitted a doleful wail that gave her sole possession of Vittoria's bosom, where she was allowed to bring her tears to an end very comfortingly. Giacomo meanwhile, his body bent in an arch, plucked at Carlo Ammiani's wrists with savagely playful tugs, and took a stout boy's lesson in the art of despising what he coveted. He had only to ask for pardon. Finding it necessary, he came shyly up to Vittoria, who put Amalia in his way, kissing whom, he was himself tenderly kissed. 'But girls should not cry!' Vittoria reproved the little woman. 'Why do you cry?' asked Amalia simply. 'See! she has been crying.' Giacomo appropriated the discovery, perforce of loudness, after the fashion of his sex. 'Why does our Vittoria cry?' both the children clamoured.