“I am a poor man, times are hard, that fellow Cesare, my assistant, is a thief—the Signora knows it—but something I shall do for them.”
Poor Rosalia, poor Beatrice! Who would “do” for them? As Vera said, the Q.’s were my most interesting profughi. That good Samaritan, Miss Jane Sedgwick, found them soon after they came to Rome. When she first saw them, they were living in one dreadful dark room; the whole family sat like statues of stone around that dismal hole; the old Count’s dreadful sobbing was the only sign of life they gave. A pitiful smile dawned on the mother’s face when Miss Sedgwick drew out a fifty-franc bill. Here was a visitor who did more than ask questions and write down answers, a committee that committed itself—recklessly perhaps, but effectively—that justified itself not by its statistics but by its work.
On the twentieth of February, J. departed with his chief, Captain Belknap, for Messina, and I was left to devote myself to my profughi. Before he started we went to take leave of Mr. and Mrs. Griscom; happily we found them at home.
“Don’t you need a suit of clothes?” her Excellency asked J. as she gave him a cup of tea.
“I need several; most of mine have been given away.” He glanced at me. “I must make out with what’s left though—I don’t look too shabby for Messina?”
“The idea! It’s only that—I have a tailor—he makes really very well—I thought you might order a suit—“
“Do, I beg!” interrupted the Ambassador. “That Sicilian tailor has made me six suits already—I can’t use any more—he makes too well—they’ll never wear out!”
“How is your plumber doing?” asked Mrs. Griscom.
“Not so well as your tailor. He can’t follow his trade in Rome; if I could only send him to America, where plumbing is a fine art and takes the place of bric-a-brac!”
“And the new baby?” How could she remember that Lucia Calabresi had a baby!