The Cardinal gave him an absent nod and smile, and passed on.
'Ah! _j'etouffe_!'-- cried Madame Variani, throwing herself down by Miss Manisty.

'Give me another cup, _chere Madame_.

Your nephew is too bad.
Let him show us another nation born in forty years--that has had to make itself in a generation--let him show it us! Ah! you English--with all your advantages--and your proud hearts .-- Perhaps we too could pick some holes in you!' She fanned herself with angry vigour.

The young men came to stand round her arguing and laughing.

She was a favourite in Rome, and as a French woman, and the widow of a Florentine man of letters, occupied a somewhat independent position, and was the friend of many different groups.
'And you--young lady, what do you think ?'--she said suddenly, laying a large hand on Lucy Foster's knee.
Lucy, startled, looked into the sparkling black eyes brought thus close to her own.
'But I just _long_'-- she said, catching her breath--'to hear the other side.' 'Ah, and you shall hear it, my dear--you shall!' cried Madame Variani.
'_N'est-ce pas, Madame ?_' she said, addressing Miss Manisty--'We will get rid of all those priests--and then we will speak our mind?
Oh, and you too,'-- she waved her hand with a motherly roughness towards the young men,--'What do you know about it, Signor Marchese?
If there were no Guardia Nobile, you would not wear those fine uniforms .-- That is why you like the Pope.' The Marchese Vitellucci--a charming boy of two and twenty, tall, thin-faced and pensive,--laughed and bowed.
'The Pope, Madame, should establish some _dames d'honneur_.