"I cannot avoid this, Lena," he said; "but I wish he had sought other quarters. If you could invite some stranger to divide attention at dinner, it would be well, but no one of our visiting circle, on any account."
"I can arrange it easily," replied the Countess, "so be not troubled. I will ask the young English artist, to whom you know some civility is due, and you can promise him access to those works of art which he desires to study."
"Excellent, my little prime minister," said the Count. "Your artist will know nothing, and pictures and painting will supply a fund of conversation."
"Who are we going to entertain, signor?" asked his wife, indifferently.
"Only one General Carlotté, who has been absent for some years, and is passing through Rome. He wished to renew acquaintance with me, and however inconvenient, I cannot refuse hospitality."
"Surely not; we will not make him a trouble, so clear your brow, dear husband mine, and we will devote ourselves to the arts forthwith. Here is the address of my—what shall I call this young Englishman? Cousin, or what? Why no relation after all, I believe. But I suppose my step-father must have owned him, so we must do the same."
"And, Lena, nothing of the General to anyone. It is nobody's business but his own."
"And we will make it very pleasant business while it lasts," said Lena, playfully. "I am curious to see some of your old friends, and mean to make him compliment you on your choice of a new one."
"I don't need any opinions upon that point, my own sweet wife," said the Count, as he tenderly bade her farewell. But a sudden thought knitted his brow ere he reached the street, and rankled painfully at his heart. "Oh, to be free, free from this hated system! Why not give up all, and live where no such shadow darkens domestic life? Yet it may pass away. Patience and hope!"
At dinner, the young Englishman satisfactorily filled his place, for the General was silent and reserved, and seemed to baffle the efforts of the hostess to entertain him. Once only, on some allusion to a despotic act on the part of the Pontiff, his eyes flashed fire, and his breast heaved with pent-up feeling; but the Count was instructing the artist concerning the valuable studies to which he should have access, and trusted it was unnoticed.