mself, who were only too glad to see something of
the beautiful Regina, so that there were often supper-parties after the
play, and trips in motorcars in the morning, horse races in the
afternoon, and all manner of amusements, with a general tendency to look
upon sleep as a disease to be avoided and the wish to rest as a foolish
weakness. It was true that Marcello never coughed, but he was very thin,
and his delicate face had grown perfectly colourless, though he
followed Corbario's advice and drank a good deal of champagne, not to
mention other less harmless things, because the quick stimulant was as
pleasant as a nap and did not involve such a waste of time.

As for Regina, the life suited her, at least for a while, and her beauty
was refined rather than marred by a little bodily weariness. The
splendid blush of pleasure rarely rose in her cheeks now, but the clear
pallor of her matchless complexion was quite as lovely. The constitution
of a healthy Roman peasant girl does not break down easily under a
course of pleasure and amusement, and it might never have occurred to
Regina that Marcello was almost exhausted already, if her eyes had not
been opened to his condition by some one else.

They were leaving the Theatre Francais one evening, intending to go home
on foot as the night was fine and warm. They had seen _Hernani_, and
Regina had naturally found it hard to understand the story, even with
Marcello's explanations; the more so as he himself had never seen the
play before, and had come to the theatre quite sure that it must be
easily comprehensible from the opera founded on it, which he had heard.
Regina's arm was passed through his, and as they made their way through
the crowd, under the not very brilliant lights in the portico, Marcello
was doing his best to make the plot of the piece clear, and Regina was
looking earnestly into his face, trying to follow what he said. Suddenly
he heard an Italian voice very near to him, calling him by name, in a
tone of surprise.

"Marcello!"

He started, straightened himself, turned his head, and faced the
Contessa dell' Armi. Close beside her was Aurora, leaning forward a
little, with an expression of cold curiosity; she had already seen
Regina, who did not withdraw her hand from Marcello's arm.

"You here?" he cried, recovering himself quickly.

As he spoke, the Contessa realised the situation, and at the same moment
Marcello met Aurora's eyes. Regina felt his arm drop