us an answer of her own accord.

"You must know that my brother has a fancy of playing at landlord," she
said, looking at us in a playful way. "He has built a hostel for the
English and the Italians of the Court. It was to be a new Paris, was it
not so? And no doubt it would have been, but that the distance was over
great. It was indeed almost a Paris in the happy days of one summer. But
since then I have been almost the only guest."

"It is marvellously beautiful," I replied. "I would that we might be
permitted to become guests as well."

"As to that, my brother will have no objections, I am sure," replied the
Countess, "specially if you tell your countrymen on your return to your
own country. He counts on the English to get him his money back. The
French have no taste for scenery. They care only for theatres and pretty
women, and the Italians have no money--alas! poor Castel del Monte!"

I understood that she was referring to her husband, and said hastily--

"Madame is Italian?"

"Who knows?" she returned, with a pretty, indescribable movement of her
shoulders. "My father was a Russian of rank. He married an Englishwoman.
I was born in Italy, educated in England. I married an Italian of rank
at seventeen; at nineteen I found myself a widow, and free to choose the
world as my home. Since then I have lived as an Englishwoman
expatriated--for she of all human beings is the freest."

I looked at her for explanation. Henry, whose appreciation of women was
for the time-being seared by his recent experience of Madame of the Red
Eyelids, got out to assist Beppo with the horses. In a little I saw him
take the reins. We were going slowly uphill all the time.

"In what way," I said, "is the Englishwoman abroad the freest of all
human beings?"

"Because, being English, she is supposed to be a little mad at any rate.
Secondly, because she is known to be rich, for all English are rich.
And, lastly, because she is recognised to be a woman of sense and
discretion, having the wisdom to live out of her own country."

We arrived on the sweep of gravel before the door. I was astonished at
the decorations. Upon a flat plateau of small extent, which lay along
the edge of a small mountain lake, gravelled paths cut the green sward
in every direction. The waters of the lake had been carefully led here
and there, in order apparently that they might be crossed by rustic
bridges which seemed transplanted from an opera. Little windmills