to
Rome, the project of aiding the Viscount, and she did not wish to recoil
from taking a single step that might be beneficial to Giovanni and
Zuleika. She said, bravely:

"Do not send me from you, Maximilian! I will be stout-hearted and
courageous! I am not afraid of this poor young man now, maniac though he
be! Perhaps I may be able to help you in dealing with him, for a woman's
wit and tenderness, they say, can sometimes subdue and pacify those
whose minds are disordered when all a man's efforts have failed."

Maximilian looked at her lovingly and admiringly.

"So be it, Valentine," he replied, much affected. "You shall remain with
me and we will face the trial together!"

His wife's eyes expressed her satisfaction at this display of
confidence; she simply grasped her husband's hand, but though she
uttered not a word the warm pressure she gave it spoke volumes.

M. Morrel turned to the cicerones, who were waiting in silent
bewilderment.

"Take us to this maniac without an instant's delay!" he said.

The guides exchanged glances, shook their heads as if in protest and
again began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian was compelled to
repeat his command somewhat sternly and imperatively before they made a
movement to obey it; then very reluctantly they motioned their patrons
to follow them and took the lead, muttering prayers to the Blessed
Virgin.

The little party quitted the sombre gallery and made their way into the
open air. After they had gone about twenty yards the guides came to an
abrupt halt and one of them pointed to the centre of the vast
gladiatorial arena.

"Look, signor!" he said to M. Morrel. "There stands the maniac of the
Colosseum!"

Maximilian and Valentine peered quickly and anxiously in the direction
indicated but saw nothing.

"There, signor!" repeated the cicerone, still pointing.

Then, all of a sudden, Maximilian and Valentine beheld the figure of a
man standing as motionless as a statue beside a vast fragment of stone.
The moonlight fell full upon a manly, noble form, revealing a handsome
countenance that might have belonged to one of the old Roman gods. The
man's dress was in picturesque disorder and on his bare head was a crown
of ivy leaves. In one hand he held a tall staff, while the other was
lifted menacingly.

"Hark!" said one of the guides, with a shudder. "He is cursing!"

M. and Mme. Morrel listened, horror-stricken, filled with a nameless
dread. A faint, but d