ifficult Pope, the Sampaolesi, who were splendid
fighters, always managed to hold their own."

Again they took some paces in silence.

"Then"--her voice had modulated--"then the idea of Italian unity was
preached to them, and in 1850 they had a revolution; and foolish,
foolish Sampaolo voluntarily submitted itself to the reign of Victor
Emmanuel. And ever since,"--her eyes darkened,--"what with the
impossible taxes, the military conscription, the corrupt officials, the
Camorra, Sampaolo has been in a very wretched plight indeed.
But--_pazienza_!" She gave her shoulders a light little shrug. "The
Kingdom of Italy will not last forever."

"We will devoutly hope not," concurred Anthony. "Meanwhile, I am glad
to note that in politics you are a true-blue reactionary."

"In Sampaolese politics," said she, "reaction would be progress.
Before 1850 the people of Sampaolo were prosperous, now they are
miserably poor; were pious, now they are horribly irreligious; were
governed by honest gentlemen, now they form part of a nation that is
governed by its criminal classes."

"And what became of the honest gentlemen?" Anthony enquired. "What did
the counts do, after they were--'hurled,' I believe, is the consecrated
expression--after they were hurled from their scarlet thrones?"

"Ah," said Susanna, seriously, "there you bring me to the chapter of
the story that is shameful."

"Oh--?" said he, looking up.

"The revolution at Sampaolo was headed by the Count's near kinsman,"
she said. "The present legitimate Count of Sampaolo is an exile. His
title and properties are held by a cousin, who has no more right to
them, no more shadow of a right, of a moral right, than--than I have."

"Ah," said Anthony. And then, philosophically, "A very pretty
miniature of an historical situation," he commented. "Orleans and
Bourbon, Hanover and Stuart. A count in possession, and a count over
the water, an usurper and a pretender."

"Exactly," she assented, "save that the Count in possession happens to
be a Countess--the grand-daughter of the original usurper, whose male
line is extinct. Oh, the history of Sampaolo has been highly coloured.
A writer in some English magazine once described it as a patchwork of
melodrama and opera-bouffe. It ended, if you like, in melodrama and
opera-bouffe, but it began in pure romance and chivalry."

"Don't stop," said Anthony. "Tell me about the beginning."

"I can tell you that," announced Sus