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Apprentice-boys, children of the poor, and even the poor people
themselves, stood before the house, watching the lighted windows; and the
watchman might easily fancy he was giving a party also, there were so many
people in the streets. There was quite an air of festivity about it, and the
house was full of it; for Mr. Alfred, the sculptor, was there. He talked and
told anecdotes, and every one listened to him with pleasure, not unmingled with
awe; but none felt so much respect for him as did the elderly widow of a naval
officer.
She seemed, so far as Mr. Alfred was concerned, to be like a
piece of fresh blotting-paper that absorbed all he said and asked for more. She
was very appreciative, and incredibly ignorant- a kind of female Gaspar Hauser.
"I should like to see Rome," she said; "it must be a lovely city, or so many
foreigners would not be constantly arriving there. Now, do give me a description
of Rome. How does the city look when you enter in at the gate?" "I cannot very
well describe it," said the sculptor; "but you enter on a large open space, in
the centre of which stands an obelisk, which is a thousand years
old."
"An organist!" exclaimed the lady, who had never heard the word
'obelisk.' Several of the guests could scarcely forbear laughing, and the
sculptor would have had some difficulty in keeping his countenance, but the
smile on his lips faded away; for he caught sight of a pair of dark-blue eyes
close by the side of the inquisitive lady. They belonged to her daughter; and
surely no one who had such a daughter could be silly. The mother was like a
fountain of questions; and the daughter, who listened but never spoke, might
have passed for the beautiful maid of the fountain.
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