has something serious to say to
me!"

Rowland had been looking at her with the shadow of his lately-stirred
pity in his eyes. "Possibly," he said. "But it must be for some other
time."

"I am at your service. I see our good-humor is gone. And I only wanted
to be amiable! It is very discouraging. Cavaliere, you, only, look as if
you had a little of the milk of human kindness left; from your venerable
visage, at least; there is no telling what you think. Give me your arm
and take me away!"

The party took its course back to the carriage, which was waiting in
the grounds of the villa, and Rowland and Roderick bade their friends
farewell. Christina threw herself back in her seat and closed her eyes;
a manoeuvre for which Rowland imagined the prince was grateful, as it
enabled him to look at her without seeming to depart from his attitude
of distinguished disapproval. Rowland found himself aroused from sleep
early the next morning, to see Roderick standing before him, dressed for
departure, with his bag in his hand. "I am off," he said. "I am back to
work. I have an idea. I must strike while the iron 's hot! Farewell!"
And he departed by the first train. Rowland went alone by the next.

CHAPTER VII. Saint Cecilia's

Rowland went often to the Coliseum; he never wearied of it. One morning,
about a month after his return from Frascati, as he was strolling across
the vast arena, he observed a young woman seated on one of the fragments
of stone which are ranged along the line of the ancient parapet. It
seemed to him that he had seen her before, but he was unable to localize
her face. Passing her again, he perceived that one of the little
red-legged French soldiers at that time on guard there had approached
her and was gallantly making himself agreeable. She smiled brilliantly,
and Rowland recognized the smile (it had always pleased him) of a
certain comely Assunta, who sometimes opened the door for Mrs. Light's
visitors. He wondered what she was doing alone in the Coliseum, and
conjectured that Assunta had admirers as well as her young mistress, but
that, being without the same domiciliary conveniencies, she was using
this massive heritage of her Latin ancestors as a boudoir. In other
words, she had an appointment with her lover, who had better, from
present appearances, be punctual. It was a long time since Rowland had
ascended to the ruinous upper tiers of the great circus, and, as the day
was radiant and the di