desires of these young people. They were neither of them in any special hurry to be done with the portraitand perhaps the young lady liked the sitting almost as much as the artist did. It was such capital exercise, too, for her Italian-for you see that good, faithful old maid of hers, who was the most comfortable of chaperones, knew no language in the world but her own; and it was of great importance for Lucy, if only for grandpapa's comfort, to increase her familiarity with "the language of the country." So, up to this time they had gone on very comfortably; but alas for Lucy's English honesty, and the sad explosion brought upon her by that unlucky curtsy on the stair!

In the first place, to Francisco's Spartan-Roman habits, the atmosphere of the room was stifling. A fire to him was no household institu

tion, and scarcely at any time necessary to comfort. To-day, though it was November, the door-window of Teta's room, which was directly above this, stood open, and nothing in the shape of fire was in Teta's dominions, except the handful of glowing charcoal in the little kitchen, where the unhappy Maria stood cooking the minestra, and getting scolded; for, speak of the difference of climate as you may, there is no man who complains of cold, and feels it, like an Englishman, as there is, of course, no one so little disposed to endure, and so determined to make away with, the ill that troubles him. And, as if the fire had not been evil enough, there burned those suspicious eyes, out of the withered old countenance of my lord-eyes which pretended to read, but were vigilant to perceive every movement, nay, every look, of both the young victimis before him. Lucy had been crying that morning, poor child. She was quite downcast, and sat with her eyes fixed on the ground-did not look up at all, indeed, till Francisco, taking courage, begged in desperation to remind her that her present attitude was quite unlike that of the portrait, and that it was perfectly necessary to alter her expression. Thus the sitting went dolefully on, a few faltering unfrequent words taking the place of the lively English

Italian with which Lucy's pretty lips were wont to overflow. My lord had the little picture submitted to him, and said "pshaw!" with delightful English ease and candour-for, of course, the foreign fellow could not tell what pshaw meant; and altogether, both painter and sitter were damped and out of heart, and the picture in a fair way to be irretrievably spoiled.

When, lo suddenly and without warning, my lord was called out of the room to see some lofty personage, whom even he did not choose to send away. The old man gloomed round him with the ugliest displeasure.

He called for Miss Lucy's maid, and left her in charge with plain spoken instructions. “Let the fellow leave as soon as possible; and remember this is the last sitting you give him, Lucy," said my lord, looking Francisco full in the face as he spoke; " and you, Reynolds, see that there's no more talking than is necessary-do you hear?" with which words he went reluctantly away. The fellow, of course, did not know English; but if he did, what did it matter? certainly nothing to my lord.

He left the room, and left behind him a crisis, much precipitated by his precautions a situation and emergency, for which a young Roman of Francisco's breeding was much better prepared than for more worka-day problems. Francisco did not dash down his brushes and fly to Lucy's feet, but he stopped short picturesquely, in the most eloquent attitude of delight, sudden relief, and unexpected hope. "I have a thousand things to say- there is not a moment to lose," said the young man's eyes; but with a natural strategic genius, he did not betray, by so much as a tone, anything which the frightened Reynolds could feel her conscience burdened with. He only changed his position slightly, "for the advantage of the light," and managed to turn his back to that guardian of the public peace.

"I am unfortunate, doubly unfortunate," said Francisco, plaintively. "My lord forbids your gracious kindness to the poor painter. I see my fate. Ah, gentillissima Signorina!

and I longed so much to tell you the extraordinary romance which I heard yesterday-only yesterday! so that I scarcely knew what I was doing, till I met you in the stair."

"A romance! oh tell it to me still, Signore Francisco-grandpapa could have no objections," said Lucy eagerly, yet with trembling.

"Ah, Signorina! but my lord would have objections if he knew that I myself," said Francisco, with melancholy emphasis-" that I myself, who am not even to have leave to finish this picture--"

"Oh, do you know English? I am so sorry," said Lucy, in great dismay. "I do not know English, but I know what means a voice-a tone; that I," resumed the young man, "am the hero of the romance I tell you of. Your grandpapa believes me a poor painter, Signorina, and so I am, painting your beautiful portrait for money; but would he believe, or would you believe, that there wants but a little more money to get justice, and put the poor painter at the head of one of the noblest houses in Rome?"

"Signore! do you mean that you are -that there is that such a thing is possible?" said the English Lucy, colouring violently, and looking, doubtful and afraid, full in Francisco's face. Alas, this romantic story, instead of interesting, dismayed the English girl! Were not all foreign swindlers princes in disguise? She gave a little gasp of disgust and disappointment for surely he was not a foreign swindler, this young Francisco; and yet, to hear such a story, what a laugh of mockery would come from the old lips of grandpapa!

"It is true," said Francisco, who had not the slightest clue to Lucy's feelings, and who rather imagined, if he thought on the subject at all, that the Forestieri were much addicted to social romances, and loved to hear of such-"it is true, though it does not look possible. When I came here last, I should have called it the most foolish fable! I was an orphan without any parents. I cared very little about it. I was a son of San Michele. Now, bella Signorina, everything is changed. Is it to my advantage, do you suppose? I was

content-I am content no longer. My heart would have broken in silence when my lord's grand equipage carried you from Rome, for you were a star in the firmament, and I only a firefly among the bushes. Now it is different. I am noble as my lord. I may be rich as my lord, and I must speak if I should die!"

Ah, my lord! what a foolish, crafty, old Englishman you were, to think that in such a dilemma, the young Roman would be at any loss! Very different from the dilemma of last night which Francisco fell asleep upon. Here he was master of the ground. His very tone, full of passion and eloquence to Lucy, did not excite anything beyond an uneasy consciousness that there was rather too much talk going on, in the mind of the troubled Reynolds. His very pantomime, as he went on with his work-painting, just as usual, Reynolds thought-to Lucy s eyes making agitated touches unawares, and most likely spoiling the picture-was eloquent. Lucy coloured to her very hair, tried hard to draw herself up and look dignified, and said in a very unsteady, faltering tone, "Signore Francisco, you must not speak so to me! grandpapa would be much displeased;" but in heart Lucy was very anxious and eager to hear his story. For, to be sure, Italy was an exceptional country. Things did happen there which happened nowhere else-and what if it should turn out true?

"If you should care to hear the story, Signorina," said Francisco, languidly, with a great stroke of art,

my faithful Teta will tell it you. Teta has been in the secret all along. She saw me leave the palace of my mother an unconscious child-she has kept her eye upon me ever since. It was but yesterday I knew. Forgive me, Signorina gentillissima! I am exhausted by my emotions. I rose up a nameless painter-I lay down an Agostini-Visconti Agostini once almost royal-and the only heir. Do you find it wonderful that I lost my self-possession when I met you in the stair?"

"There was no need for self-possession, Signore," said Lucy, with sweet youthful severity; "I should

Here the situation somewhat altered, and Francisco ceased to know his ground. He had gone astray in that last touch, but scarcely saw how, nor could divine that, in Lucy's insular morals, it was no harm in the world to know the poor young painter, but grievous harm to pretend not to know him. Francisco staggered before the clear eye and the clearer tone. He thought she must of necessity mean a hundred times more than she appeared to mean. This single expression of hers confounded him much more than the wrath of my lord. That he understood well enough, but this was dark and undecipherable. Did she mean to check his presumption? What did she mean?

"I have offended you, Signorina," said Francisco, in his most pathetic

tone.

"Not at all," said the young lady; "only perhaps you do not quite understand; and I am very sorry," she continued, blushing with a little mortification and shame, "but grandpapa does not wish you to come again, Signore. Oh, I beg your pardon !-I cannot help it. I think the picture will do very nicely. I am sure my old friend will be quite pleased. But I thought it better not to leave grandpapa's message to Antonio. Please do not feel affronted-grandpapa is often so strange."

"I am not surprised," said Francisco, "I knew it very well; and were I my lord, I should say the same. Pardon, Signorina. I would not have but one happy painter ad

mitted to your presence; and as for me, I shall see you again, when I may throw myself at your feet without reproof from my lord."

Lucy was considerably agitatedshe did not know what to answer. She looked on with a little trembling while the young painter covered up his little picture. Then suddenly perceiving that he meant to take it with him, in spite of what she had said, interfered with a faltering voice

"You will leave the picture, will not you?" said Lucy: "I am sure, except just that it is too nice, nobody could find any fault with it. You are surely not going to take it away."

"Ah, Signorina! do you suppose my memory is so faint? do you imagine I cannot complete the picture?" said Francisco, with great significance; then, bold in usage and custom. kissed her hand, and throwing all the eloquence of which they were capable into his eyes, took his leave all the more hastily that sounds approached as of the return of my lord. Francisco escaped that formidable encounter; but Lucy, all agitated, blushing, and distressed, had to bear the full brunt of it ;-alas, not without many a misgiving in her own innocent mind the while! Was he one of the foreign swindlers who were always princes in disguise? or was he true, and a hero of romance? Lucy's mind inclined far more strongly to the last opinion than she could have believed it would; and the Signorina Inglese longed as earnestly for the first moment's leisure, when she could fly to Sora Teta and demand the story from her, as Francisco could have desired.

But Francisco could not work even at that portrait when he got home; and as love and ambition, even at their highest flight, must still dine, he sprang up the long staircase only to deposit the little picture in safety, and as quickly descended again, and turned his steps towards the Trattoria, where, except when the funds were at miraculous ebb, it was his

custom to eat his dinner. On the way he encountered the good-natured Gigi, Mariuccia's son. Gigi, or Luigi, which was his proper name, was loitering about the place where he had put up his horse, and stood close by his cart, on which, like a sail, a piece of canvass, stretched upon three sticks in the form of a triangle, was erected, with the inten

tion of defending the driver from the sun. Close by was the dark arched doorway of an osteria or wine-shopan osteria con cucina-where many a humble wayfarer had his dinner, and where Gigi meditated eating his. The honest fellow did not know what revelations had been made to Francisco; did not even know anything approaching to the full grandeur of the tale it self; and consequently addressed the young man with his usual familiar homely, half-fatherly kindness. It is impossible to describe how this salutation for the first moment jarred upon Francisco. He coloured, he drew back, he felt angry in spite of himself. He could not help suspecting that some intention of insult lay under Gigi's frank accost, so far already had the spell worked upon him.

Something ails you, Chichino mio," said the good-humoured peasant. "Do matters go badly then with the arts? Dost thou not thrive at thy painting, my son? Patienza! the Forestieri who, they tell me, are coming in crowds this year, will make thee amends. Come and dine with thy old friend in the Osteria; they cook the polenta here almost as well as they do it over in Trastevere. Come! though thou wearest a better coat, and art of the belle arti, thou wert once little Chichino in Rocca, and hast a heart for thy old friends.” "And what, then, do you suppose I am now?" escaped from Francisco, rather angrily, in the first burst of his youthful annoyance.

"What thou art now? Per Bacco! a little out of temper, my youth!" cried Gigi, with an honest laugh; "but come, let us dine, for I must go for my mother, who is with Sora Teta in the Corso, another of thy old friends, at two hours after noon. She came into Rome upon some business of her own, the old mother. The mezzogiorno has sounded some time since, Francisco mio! let us get our dinner, we can talk over the minestra as well as here."

After a little pause Francisco followed, not without reluctance, and a feeling that he descended greatly from his dignity. The Osteria was a wild, dark, barn-like erection, with a lofty vaulted roof and earthen

floor, stretching back with picturesque savagery into a gloom which would have almost been that of a cave, but for an odd little chance window in the distant wall, which sent a miraculous golden arrow of sunshine through the darkness. In that region, however, there was neither furniture nor inhabitation, but a vast row of wine-barrels, and litter of various sorts, saddles and harness, a wandering hen with her chickens, and an earthy and uninhabited smell. Nearer the door, the cucina resolved itself into a great fireplace, where cooking of various kinds went on merrily. Gigi, followed by Francisco, seated himself at a table close to the door, from which they could still see the street without. There was but one small high grated window to assist the light which came from the great open doorway; and as the Osteria opened into a narrow street, the light was very imperfect. There, however, they sat down, on the rudest of wooden benches, at the most unadorned of tables, and had their soup or minestra -Francisco, perhaps, rather comforting himself with the lack of light, lest he should be seen in such a place eating with a Contadino! But after all, in his romantic and extraordinary position, what did it matter how any one thought!

"You do not know, then," said Francisco, "why Mariuccia came to Rome."

"That is true, I do not know," said Gigi. "It is some fancy she has, however; it is not for diversion merely; though an old woman like my mother, who has lived virtuously, has a right to her pleasure. For myself, I always tell her so."

"And she trusts to you, I am sure, Gigi," said the young man, with a novel patronage in his tone. "Did not you go with the good Mariuccia the night she carried me to Rocca? Is it not so, Luigi mio?" continued the youth, growing conciliatory; "and stood by while she went into the palace, and are aware how she brought me out an unconscious child?"

Nay, Signore, halt there," cried Gigi with a touch of suspicion; "if you wish to know something which she will not tell, you may tear me to

pieces sooner; and as for carrying you, to be sure, you were there in the house when I woke from my first sleep; but how you got there, whether by Maria sending you from Subiaco, or San Girolamo out of the desert, or the blessed Madonna herself from heaven, I cannot tell; there you were, certainly; but it is needless to ask such questions of me."

"Ah, so I perceive," said Francisco; "but Mariuccia, good soul, has told me all. Say, was not that a dismal ride through the olive woods?”

"You forget that I did not ride," said Gigi, laughing; "my mother had the poor old donkey, the poverina! Ah, what a good old creature that was! Many a time has she carried you up the mountain, Chichino mio, when you were scarcely big enough to cling to the bridle. I have three donkeys now, my son; but I will never have any like that dear old friend of my youth."

"Bah! what matter about your donkeys?" cried Francisco, almost with passion, "when I tell you that Mariuccia has told me all. Is that the only thing you have to say?"

Gigi scratched in perplexity his honest head. "Ah, stupido!" he ejaculated, smiting himself on the breast with ready pantomime. "I was always a thickhead, Chichino mio; what is it I ought to say?"

"Do you know who I am?" asked Francisco, still more impatiently.

Gigi scratched his head again, but this time a smile awoke among the black tangles of his beard. "I know you came out of the palazzo, my son -at least my mother was there that night; and she carried something under her shawl, sicuro! and, to tell you the truth, it is spoken among the people that you belong somehow to the Agostini. That is all I know; and whether it will do thee any good, thou poor child—”

"Stay thy folly, Gigi, and understand me," said Francisco, loftily. "In short, I am the Duke Agostini; but whether it will do me good, as you say.

"The Duke Agostini !" stammered Gigi, stumbling to his feet; then, after a bewildered pause, during which, the best way he could, he had been putting things together,

the good fellow tremulously seized and kissed the young painter's hand. "The Duke Agostini!" he repeated. "I heard them say thou wert other than thou seemed, Chichino-I mean Eccellenza, noble Don! but to be Duke Agostini-Viva il Duca ! Viva la Madonna Santissima! the heavens do not forget us after all. Duke Agostini it will be the greatest festa at Rocca, greater than the fair. I will go myself to Frascati, to old Chico of the fireworks. Thou art the lord of Rocca, then, Chichino mio! Excuse me, Eccellenza, I do not know what I say."

"Mariuccia never told you, then," said Francisco, with calm dignity; "but be seated, my good Gigi, and help yourself to some polenta; the polenta is very good as you said. Mariuccia never said to you who the little Chichino was ?"

"I cannot sit at the table with your Excellency," said Gigi, with a rueful face, looking at the polenta. "Your Excellency will excuse me, that I was so familiar before I knew who your Excellency was."

"Nay, Gigi, thou shalt not cheat thyself of thy polenta; we have sat at one table many a time before," said the young paladin, magnanimously; "and how couldst thou know, my good fellow, if thy mother never told thee! but thou wert along with me, in that first journey of mine, all the same?"

"I was waiting with the donkey, just on the pathway yonder above the lake. That dear old donkey, Chichino mio-Scusa, Eccellenza! Í forgot myself," cried Gigi in alarm. "The good beast cropped the grass, and I played Mori with the lads of my own age. It was at the end of that great elm-tree avenue which you know, illustrissimo Signore, if you have ever been at Genzaro-though, indeed, I believe you never have. It was about the Ave Maria when we came, all the world wondering why my mother should travel through the woods so late. I thought nothing of it, because it did not come into my head, Signore; but after waiting long, when my mother came at last, she wore a shawl, that is certain, and carried beneath it something that moved, and said not a word to me