‘Yes, you were at them like an old German gentleman I once knew,’ said Eliza.  ’Some of his friends saw him one morning at the German confessional-box, and knowing that he was a heretic, asked him what he was doing there? ‘Diavolo!’ said he, ’can’t a man have a comfortable mouthful of German, without changing religions?’’

‘For my part,’ said Rita, the youngest sister, ’I only go to confessional, because I have to, and I only confess what I want to.’

‘Bravo!’ exclaimed Rocjean, ‘I must paint your portrait.’

‘Benissimo! and who will paint mine?’ asked Eliza.

‘I will,’ said Caper, ’but on condition that you let me keep a copy of it.’....

Arrangements completed, Rocjean ordered more wine; and then the artist in leather ordered more; then Caper’s turn came.  After this, the party—­which had been gradually growing jolly and jollier, would have danced, had they not all had a holy horror of the prison of San Angelo.  The married sister, Dominica, was a full-blooded Trasteverina, in her gala dress, and had one of those beautiful-shaped heads that Caper could only compare to a quail’s; her jet-black hair, smoothed close to her head, was gathered in a large roll that fell low on her neck behind, and held by a silver spadina or pin, that, if occasion demanded, would make a serviceable stiletto; her full face was brown, while the red blood shone through her cheeks, and her lips were full and ripe.  Her eyes of deep gray, shaded with long black lashes, sparkled with light when she was aroused.  Her sisters resembled her strikingly, except Rita, the youngest, whose face was of that singularly delicate hue of white, the color of the magnolia-flower, as one of our American writers has it; or like the white of a boiled egg next to the yolk, as Caper expressed it.  Be this as it may, there was something very attractive in this pallor, since it was accompanied by an embonpoint indicating any thing but romantic meagerness of constitution.

Dominica had, without exaggeration, the value of a dozen or two pairs of patent-leather boots hung on her neck, arms, fingers, ears, and bosom, in the shape of furious-sized pieces of gold jewelry; and it was solid gold.  The Roman women, from the earliest days—­from the time when Etruscan artists made those ponderous chains and bracelets down to this present date—­have had the most unbridled love for jewelry.  Do we not know[D] that—­

  Sabina’s garters were worth,... $200,000
  Faustina’s finger-ring,... 200,000
  Domitia’a ring,... 300,000
  Caeesonia’s bracelet,... 400,000
  Poppaea’s earrings,... 600,000
  Calpurina’s (Caesar’s wife) earrings,
    ’above suspicion,’... 1,200,000
  Sabina’s diadem,... 1,200,000

And after this, is it at all astonishing that the desire remains for it, even if the substance has been plundered and carried off by those forestieri, the Huns, Vandals, Goths, Visigoths, Norsemen, and other heretics who have visited Rome?