n Miss Rossano's company, that I was afraid of being intrusive,
and my very anxiety to be near her kept me away from her in this foolish
fashion many a time.

The Baroness Bonnar was before me when I called, and I found her there
in the daintiest and most becoming of visiting costumes, chatting away
with excellent tact and unfailing vivacity.

She gave Miss Rossano time to welcome me, and then assailed me at once
with laudation's of my devotion and courage, which I received, I know,
with an extremely evil grace. I resemble my neighbors in liking to
have credit for what I have done, but I know nothing more hateful than
unmerited praise. I silenced her at last, and she turned upon Miss
Rossano with a stage-whisper intended for my hearing: "I adore these
brave men who are too modest to endure praise."

"You are too oily for my personal taste, madame," I said to myself, and
my earlier dislike for her came back again.

The count, I learned, was better. Immediately on his arrival at Lady
Rollinson's the family doctor had been sent for. Like a wise man, he had
prescribed rest and complete freedom from all excitement. There were
to be no more public meetings, and the sufferer was seriously warned
against all stress of emotion.

"We have had great difficulty," said Miss Rossano, "in bringing him to
reason. The enthusiasm of last night's meeting has convinced him that a
great uprising is near at hand, and that in a year or two at the outside
Italy will have her freedom back again. He would die for that," she
said, with a flash of her beautiful eyes, and her face suddenly pale
with feeling. "The house was overrun with Italians yesterday," she
added. "My father saw some of them, and they are all full of the news
that Charles Albert is ready to march into Piedmont, and that the Pope
is favorable to devolution. One never knows how much truth there is in
these stories, but I have lived in an atmosphere of them all my life."
Then she laughed on a sudden, and, clapping her hands together, turned
on me with a swift gesture like that of a pleased child. "You saw
the Count Ruffiano yesterday?" she asked; and I, answering in the
affirmative, she laughed again. "The poor dear old gentleman," she said,
"is my father's one surviving comrade, and ever since I have been able
to understand he has talked to me about Italy and The Cause. He is in
fiery earnest, and such a dreamer that he has been looking forward to
every month of his life as t