Portheris was awaiting us by the gate,
however, so in getting out I gave my hand to Dicky.

Inside and outside the gate, how quiet it was. Nothing on the Appian Way
but dust and sunlight, nothing in the field within the walls but
yellowing grass and here and there a field-daisy bending in the silence.
It made one think of an old faded water-colour, washed in with tears,
that clings to its significance though all its reality is gone. Then we
saw a little bare house to the left with an open door, and inside found
Brothers Demetrius and Eusebius in Trappist gowns and ropes, who would
sell us beads for the profitable employment of our souls, and chocolate
and photographs, and wonderful eucalyptus liqueur from the Three
Fountains, and when we had well bought would show us the city of the
long, long dead of which they were custodians. They were both obliging
enough to speak English, Brother Demetrius imperfectly and haltingly,
and without the assistance of those four front teeth which are so
especially necessary to a foreign tongue, Brother Eusebius fluently, and
with such richness of dialect that we were not at all surprised to learn
that he had served his Pope for some years in the State of New York.

"For de ladi de chocolate. Ith it not?" said Brother Demetrius, with an
inducive smile. "It ith de betht in de worl', dis chocolate."

"Don't you believe him," said Brother Eusebius, "he's known as the
oldest of the Roman frauds. Wants your money, that's what he wants."
Brother Demetrius shook his fist in amicable, wagging protest. "That's
the way he goes on, you know--quarrelsome old party. But I don't say
it's bad chocolate. Try it, young lady, try it."

He handed a bit to Isabel, who looked at her momma.

"There is no possible objection, my dear," said Mrs. Portheris, and she
nibbled it.

Dicky invested wildly.

"Dese photograff dey are very pritty," remarked Brother Demetrius to
momma, who was turning over some St. Stephens and St. Cecilias.

"He'd say anything to sell them," put in Brother Eusebius. "He never
thinks of his immortal soul, any more than if he was a poor miserable
heretic. He'll tell you they're originals next, taken by Nero at the
time. You're all good Catholics, of course?"

"We are not any kind of Catholics," said Mrs. Portheris severely.

"I'll give you my blessing all the same, and no extra charge. But the
saints forbid that I should be selling beads made out of their precious
bones to Protes