ands as
she sat with her eyes shut, half dreaming, to make sure and keep sure
that she was not to wake up presently to bitterness. Claudio would come
to Rome in a week, and perhaps they would be married before he should go
back. There was no letter from Matteo. So much the better.

One golden day succeeded another, and Silvia changed from a lily to a
rose with marvellous rapidity. She was not a ruddy, full-leaved rose,
though, but like one of those delicate ones with clouds of red on them
and petals that only touch the calyx, as if they were wings and must be
free to move. She was slim and frail, and her color wavered, and her
head had a little droop, and her voice was low. She had always been the
stillest creature alive; and now, full of happiness as she was, her
feelings showed themselves in an uneasy stirring, like that of a flower
in which a bee has hidden itself. After the first outburst she did not
so much say that she was happy as breathe and look it.

One noonday, when life seemed too beautiful to last, and they all sat
together after breakfast, the signora, her daughter and Silvia, too
contented to say a word, the door opened, and Matteo Guai came in with a
black, smileless face, and not the slightest salutation for his sister.
He had come to take Silvia home, he replied briefly to the signora's
compliments. She must be ready in an hour. The vintage was suffering by
his absence, and it was necessary that he should return at once.

Signora Fantini poured out the most voluble exclamations, prayers and
protests. She had forty engagements for Silvia. They had had only a few
days' visit from her, and she was to have stayed a month. They would
themselves accompany her to Monte Compatri later if it was necessary
that she should go. But, in fine, Monsignor Catinari did not expect her
to return.

"I am the head of the family, and my sister has to obey me till she is
married," Matteo replied doggedly. "I suppose that Monsignor Catinari
will not deny that. The Church always supports the authority of the
master of the family."

"Why, of course," the signora replied, rather confused by this
irresistible argument, "you have the right, and no one will resist you.
But as a favor now--" and the signora assumed her most coaxing smile,
and even advanced a plump white hand to touch Matteo's sleeve.

She might as well have tried to bewitch and persuade the bronze Augustus
on the Capitoline Hill.

"Things are changed since i