for us I cannot say. She was very secret this morning,
and I suspect that means riceballs seasoned with mushrooms and hashed
giblets of turkey. She always becomes mysterious when those are in
preparation. Eat well, child, and get a little flesh and color before
Claudio comes."

They made a merry breakfast, with the noon sun sending its golden arrows
through every tiniest chink of the closed shutters and an almost summer
heat reigning without. Then there was an hour of sleep, then a drive to
the Pincio to see all the notable people who came up there to look at or
speak to each other while the sun sank behind St. Peter's. And in the
evening after dinner they went to the housetop to see the fireworks
which were being displayed for some festa or other; and later there was
music, and then to bed.

Life became an enchantment to the little bride-elect, as life in Italy
will become to any one who has not too heavy a cross to bear. For peace
in this beautiful land means delight, not merely the absence of pain.
How the sun shone! and how the fountains danced! What roses bloomed
everywhere! what fruits of Eden were everywhere piled! How soft the
speech was! and how sweet the smiles! And when it was discovered that
Silvia had a beautiful voice, so that she and Claudio would be like a
pair of birds together, then it seemed to her that a nest of twigs on a
tree-branch would be all that she could desire.

They took her to see the pope on one of those days. It was as if they
had taken her to heaven. To her he was the soul of Rome, the reason why
Rome was; and when she saw his white figure against the scarlet
background of cardinals she remembered how Rome looked against the rosy
Campagna at sunset from her far-away window in Monte Compatri.

"A little _sposa_, is she?" the pope said when Monsignor Catinari
presented her.--"I bless you, my child: wear this in memory of me." He
gave her a little gold medal from a tiny pocket at his side, laid his
hand on her head and passed on. It was too much: she had to weep for
joy.

Then, when the audience was over, they took her through the museum and
library, and some one gave her a bunch of roses out of the pope's
private garden, and she was put into a carriage and driven home, her
heart beating somewhere in her head, her feet winged and her eyes
dazzled.

There was a rapturous letter from Claudio awaiting her, and by that she
knew that it was not all a dream. She rattled the paper in her h