Teresa made a courteous speech and withdrew.
Claelia lived at some distance, and when they reached her house she was out. Teresa said calmly, “I will await her return,” and sat so still, and dignified, and statuesque, that Gerard was beginning furtively to draw her, when Claelia returned.
“Madama, I hear from the goldsmith's wife, the excellent Olympia, that you need a writer” (here she took Gerard by the hand and led him forward); “I have brought you a beautiful one; he saved my child from the cruel waves. For our Lady's sake look with favour on him.”
“My good dame, my fair Ser,” said Claelia, “I have no use for a writer; but now you remind me, it was my friend Appia Claudia asked me for one but the other day. She is a tailor, lives in the Via Lepida.”
Teresa retired calmly.
“Madama,” said Gerard, “this is likely to be a tedious business for you.”
Teresa opened her eyes.
“What was ever done without a little patience?” She added mildly, “We will knock at every door at Rome but you shall have justice.”
“But, madama, I think we are dogged. I noticed a man that follows us, sometimes afar, sometimes close.”
“I have seen it,” said Teresa coldly; but her cheek coloured faintly. “It is my poor Lodovico.”