ands
of Don Camillo played the invisible accordion.

"Madame de Trop says his father was Master of the House to Prince
Petrolium--vice-prince, you know, and brought up in the little palace,"
said the Princess.

"Don't believe a word of it," said Don Camillo, "and I'll wager he never
supped at a decent hotel before."

"I'll ask him! Listen now! Some fun," said the Princess. "Honourable
Rossi!"

"Yes, Princess," said David Rossi.

The eyes of the little Princess swept the table with a sparkling light.

"Beautiful room, isn't it?"

"Beautiful."

"Never been here before, I suppose?"

David Rossi looked steadfastly into her eyes and answered, "Oh yes,
Princess. When I first returned to Italy eight years ago I was a waiter
in this house for a month."

The sparkling face of the little Princess broke up like a snowball in
the sun, and the two other men dropped their heads.

Roma hardly knew what her own feelings were. Humiliation, shame,
confusion, but above all, pride--pride in David Rossi's courage and
strength.

The white mist from the Campagna pierced to the bone as they came out by
the glass-covered hall, and an old woman with an earthenware scaldino,
crouching by the marble pillars in the street, held out a chill, damp
hand and cried:

"A penny for God's sake! May I die unconfessed if I've eaten anything
since yesterday!... God bless you, my daughter! and the Holy Virgin and
all the saints!"

At the door of her house Roma parted from the Princess, and said to
Rossi, as the carriage drove away, "Come early to-morrow. I've not yet
been able to work properly somehow."

She was restless and feverish, and she would have gone to bed
immediately, but crossing the drawing-room she heard the fretful voice
of her aunt saying, "Is that you, Roma?" and she had no choice but to go
into the Countess's bedroom.

A red lamp burned before the shrine, and the old lady was in an
embroidered nightdress, but she was wide awake, and her eyes flashed and
her lips trembled.

"Ah, it's you at last! Sit down! I want to speak to you. Natalina!"
cried the Countess. "Oh, dear me, the girl has gone to bed. Give me the
cognac. There it is--on the dressing-table."

She sipped the brandy, fidgeted with her cambric handkerchief, and said:

"Roma, I'm surprised at you! You hadn't used to be so stupid! How? Don't
you see what that woman is doing? What woman? The Princess, of course.
Inviting you to share her box at the opera so th