leave of the worthy man and let him depart
with God's blessing, his newly married wife by his side, and his
honorarium from Princess Blanka in his pocket.

Thus the divorced wife, who was yet hardly more than a girl, found
herself left alone in Rome. She shut herself off entirely from the
world, never venturing into society lest people should whisper to one
another as she passed,--"_la condannata!_" She received no one but her
father confessor, who came to her once a week. The sins which she had to
confess to him were,--the doubting of providence, rebellion against
human justice, forbidden dreams in waking hours, envy of others'
happiness, aversion to prayer, and hatred of life--all sins for which
she had to do penance.

Meanwhile quite a different sort of life was being led in the other wing
of the palace. She could not but hear, from time to time, sounds of
mirth and gaiety in the adjoining garden, or even through the solid
partition-wall of the house. Voices that she knew only too well, and
some that she hated, penetrated to her ears and drove her from one room
to another.

In due time, however, the malarial fever of the Italian summer came to
her as another distraction. It was an intermittent fever, and for six
weeks she was subject to its periodical attacks, which returned every
third day with the constancy of a devoted lover. When at length she
began to mend, her physician prescribed a change of air. Knowing that
his patient could not absent herself from Rome and its vicinity, he did
not send her to Switzerland, but to Tivoli and Monte Mario; and even
before venturing on these brief excursions she was obliged to ask
permission at the Vatican. The convalescent was allowed to spend her
days on Monte Mario, but required to return to Rome at nightfall. Good
morals and good laws demanded this.

Nevertheless, even this slight change--the drives to and from Monte
Mario, and the mountain air during the fine autumn days--did the
princess good, and eventually restored her health.

Meanwhile there was more than one momentous change in the political
world, but Blanka heeded them not. What signified to her the watchword
of the period,--"Liberty?" What liberty had she? Even were all the world
beside free, she was not free to love.

CHAPTER XII.

A GHOSTLY VISITANT.

It was the irony of fate that the mansion which had been assigned as a
permanent dwelling-place to the woman condemned to a life of asceticism,