nded; he
who had driven said something inaudible to the groom; and the groom,
touching his hat, answered: "Yes, my lord."

"So," thought Adrian, "we are not the only Britons in this island. I
wonder who my lord is."

And then, nothing if not consequent, he began to sing, softly to himself--

"Lord of thy presence, and no land besi-i-ide . . ."

And he was still softly carolling that refrain, when the door of the
sitting-room was opened.

"Marchese del Ponte, Marchese Baldo del Ponte," announced the waiter,
with sympathetic exhilaration, flourishing his inseparable napkin.

The two huge young men entered. The room seemed all at once to contract,
and become half its former size.

"Ah, Count," said one of them, advancing, and getting hold of Adrian's
hand. "How do you do? I am the Marchese del Ponte; this is my brother,
the Marchese Baldo. Welcome to Sampaolo. We are your connections, you
know. Our ancestors have intermarried any time these thousand years."

Adrian's rosy face was wreathed in his most amiable smiles.

"How do you do? I 'm very glad to see you. Won't you take chairs?" he
responded, and hospitably pushed chairs forward. "But I 'm afraid," he
added, shaking his head, still smiling, "I 'm afraid I 'm not a count."

"Ah, yes," said Baldo, "we know you don't use your title."

"You 're a count all right, whether you use your title or not," said
Franco. "Noblesse is in the bone. You can't get rid of it."

"Your great-grandmother was a Ponte," said Baldo, "and our own
grandmother was a Valdeschi, your grandfather's cousin."

"Really?" said Adrian, pleasantly. "But I 'm afraid," he explained to
Franco, "that there is n't any noblesse in _my_ bones. I 'm afraid I 'm
just a plain commoner."

"Oh, you refer to the Act of Proscription--I understand," said Franco.
"But that was utterly invalid--a mere piece of political stage-play. The
Italian government had no more power to proscribe your title than it
would have to proscribe an English peerage,--no jurisdiction. It could
create a new Count of Sampaolo, which it did; but it could n't abolish
the dignity of the existing Count--a dignity that was ancient centuries
before the Italian government was dreamed of. You 're a count all right."

"I see," said Adrian. "And are you, then," he inferred, with sprightly
interest, "agin the government?"

The familiar formula appeared to tickle the two young Anglophiles
inordinately. They greeted i