"Is Rome as fine as they say it is?" said Georges, addressing the
great painter.

"Rome is fine only to those who love it; a man must have a passion for
it to enjoy it. As a city, I prefer Venice,--though I just missed
being murdered there."

"Faith, yes!" cried Mistigris; "if it hadn't been for me you'd have
been gobbled up. It was that mischief-making tom-fool, Lord Byron, who
got you into the scrape. Oh! wasn't he raging, that buffoon of an
Englishman?"

"Hush!" said Schinner. "I don't want my affair with Lord Byron talked
about."

"But you must own, all the same, that you were glad enough I knew how
to box," said Mistigris.

From time to time, Pierrotin exchanged sly glances with the count,
which might have made less inexperienced persons than the five other
travellers uneasy.

"Lords, pachas, and thirty-thousand-franc ceilings!" he cried. "I seem
to be driving sovereigns. What pourboires I'll get!"

"And all the places paid for!" said Mistigris, slyly.

"It is a lucky day for me," continued Pierrotin; "for you know, Pere
Leger, about my beautiful new coach on which I have paid an advance of
two thousand francs? Well, those dogs of carriage-builders, to whom I