"That I have not, my lord! But since the Senator of Rome has favored me with his especial attention, I too have something to lose, which some folk hereabout call their honor."
"Your honor!" sneered the Grand Chamberlain. "It is like the skin of an onion. Peel off one, there's another beneath."
"My skin then—" the bravo growled doggedly. "However—if the lord Basil will confide in me—"
"Pray lustily to your patron saint and frequent the chapel of the Grand Penitentiary," replied Basil suavely, beckoning to Il Gobbo to follow him. "But beware, lest in your zeal to confess you mistake my peccadillos for your own."
With these words the two worthies slowly retraced their steps in the direction of Mount Aventine and were soon lost to sight.
[CHAPTER II]
THE WEAVING OF THE SPELL
After they had disappeared Tristan stood at gaze, puzzled where to turn, for the spectacle had suddenly changed.
New bands of revellers had invaded the Piazza Navona, and it seemed indeed as if the Eve of St. John were assuming the character of the ancient Lupercalia, for the endless variety of costumes displayed by a multitude assembled from every corner of Italy, Spain, Greece, Africa, and the countries of the North, was now exaggerated by a wild fancifulness and grotesque variety of design.