"Do I know him?" said her cousin. "Oh, yes, I ＇know＇him; not well, but on the whole enough. I＇ve never cultivated his society, and he apparently has never found mine indispensable to his happiness. Who is he,what is he? He＇s a vague, unexplained American who has been living these thirty years, or less, in Italy. Why do I call him unexplained? Only as a cover for my ignorance; I don＇t know his antecedents, his family,his origin. For all I do know he may be a prince in disguise; he rather looks like one, by the way—like a prince who has abdicated in a fit of fastidiousness and has been in a state of disgust ever since. He used to live in Rome; but of late years he has taken up his abode here; I remember hearing him say that Rome has grown vulgar. He has a great dread of vulgarity;that＇s his special line; he hasn＇t any other that I know of. He lives on his income, which I suspect of not being vulgarly large. He＇s a poor but honest gentleman that＇s what he calls himself. He married young and lost his wife, and I believe he has a daughter. He also has a sister, who＇s married to some small Count or other,of these parts; I remember meeting her of old. She＇s nicer than he, I should think, but rather impossible. I remember there used to be some stories about her. I don＇t think I recommend you to know her. But why don＇t you ask Madame Merle about these people? She knows them all much better than I."