ture of the Magdalen at the feet of Christ, which the academicians of San-Luca had judged so unseasonably,—so little in conformity with the ordinary rules of equity."
"What do I know about it, and what can I tell you?" repeated Capuzzi, accompanying his language with actions in which very little cordiality was manifested; "will you have the kindness to allow," added he, "a change of the subject of conversation? This excites in me nervous impressions which are very painful."
This management was repeated so long and so well, that signor Capuzzi, pushed from his self-possession by the artist's questions, bounded about like a tiger-cat, and pushing back his half filled goblet, exclaimed in his owl-like voice:—"By all the devils in hell, you have given me some kind of poison, in order to play upon me some infamous trick with that accursed Antonio! But I will set things to rights. Think of immediately paying me the ten ducats which are due me, and after that, Satan take you."
"How," cried Salvator, "dare you insult me in this manner in my own house? You want ten ducats for a wormeaten spinet? Ten ducats! no! not even five, nor three, not even an obole of copper!" And suiting the action to the words, he kicked the unfortunate instrument, from which each blow made the splinters fly about the room.
"But there are laws in Rome! there are judges!" howled Capuzzi; "I will let you rot in a dungeon! I"
As he was trying to reach the door, Salvator seized him with an iron hand, and nailed him to the seat he had just left.
"Well, my very worthy signor Pasquale," said he to him with the most velvety accent he knew how to assume, "do you not see, that all this is a game? Ten ducats for your spinet,—for such a master-piece? not so, you shall have thirty for it."
This promise, uttered with the greatest seriousness, had a magical effect . Pasquale Capuzzi no longer spoke of a prison,21*
