“I will buy that lamp,” said Caleb presently. “The design pleases me. What artist made it?”
The merchant shrugged his shoulders.
“Sir, I do not know,” he answered. “These goods are supplied to us with many others, such as joinery and carving, by one Septimus, who is a contractor and, they say, a head priest among the Christians, employing many hands at his shops in the poor streets yonder. One or more of them must be designers of taste, since of late we have received from him some lamps of great beauty.”
Then the man was called away to attend to another customer and Caleb paid for his lamp.
That evening at dusk Caleb, bearing the lamp in his hand, found his way to the workshop of Septimus, only to discover that the part of the factory where lamps were moulded was already closed. A girl who had just shut the door, seeing him stand perplexed before it, asked civilly if she could help him.
“Maiden,” he answered, “I am in trouble who wish to find her who moulded this lamp, so that I may order others, but am told that she has left her work for the day.”
“Yes,” said the maiden, looking at the lamp, which evidently she recognised. “It is pretty, is it not? Well, cannot you return to-morrow?”
“Alas! no, I expect to be leaving Rome for a while, so I fear that I must go elsewhere.”
The girl reflected to herself that it would be a pity if the order were lost, and with it the commission which she might divide with the maker of the lamp. “It is against the rules, but I will show you where she lives,” she said, “and if she is there, which is probable, for I have never seen her or her companion go out at night, you can tell her your wishes.”
Caleb thanked the girl and followed her through sundry tortuous lanes to a court surrounded by old houses.