owry covers a multitude of sins in
the eyes of a man to whom money is the chief object in life.
Carnesecchi, therefore, meant to extract as many thousands of francs
from Marzio as should be possible, and prepared himself to bargain. The
matter was by no means settled, in spite of the chiseller's instructions
to his wife concerning the outfit.

"We must talk," said Carnesecchi. "Not that I should be altogether
averse to coming easily to an understanding, you know. Bat there are
many things to be considered. Let us see."

"Yes, let us see," assented the other. "My daughter has education. She
is also sufficiently well instructed. She could make a fine marriage.
But then, you see, I desire a serious person for my son-in-law. What
would you have? One must be prudent."

It is not easy to define exactly what a Roman means by the word
"serious." In some measure it is the opposite of gay, and especially of
what is young and unsettled. The German use of the word Philistine
expresses it very nearly. A certain sober, straitlaced way of looking at
life, which was considered to represent morality in Rome fifty years
ago; a kind of melancholy superiority over all sorts of amusements,
joined with a considerable asceticism and the most rigid economy in the
household--that is what was meant by the word "serious." To-day its
signification has been slightly modified, but a serious man--_un uomo
serio_--still represents to the middle-class father the ideal of the
correct son-in-law.

"Eh, without prudence!" exclaimed Carnesecchi, elliptically, as though
to ask where he himself would have been had he not possessed prudence in
abundance.

"Exactly," answered Marzio, biting off the end of a common cigar and
fixing his eyes on the lawyer's thin, keen face. "Precisely. I think--of
course I do not know--but I think that you are a serious man. But then,
I may be mistaken."

"Well, it is human to err, Sor Marzio. But then, I am no longer of that
age--what shall I say? Everybody knows I am serious. Do I lead the life
of the cafe? Do I wear out my shoes in Piazza Colonna? Capers! I am a
serious man."

"Yes," answered Marzio, though with some hesitation, as though he were
prepared to argue even this point with the sallow-faced lawyer. He
struck a match on the gaudy little paper box he carried and began to
smoke thoughtfully. "Let us make a couple of steps," he said at last.

Both men moved slowly on for a few seconds, and then stopped again.