thing else.
But I know things that I never learned. Every woman does. How? The heart
says them, and they are true. Where shall we go to-morrow?"

"Do you really want to leave Paris?"

To impress upon him that she was in earnest Regina squeezed his hands
together in hers with such energy that she really hurt him.

"What else have I been saying for half an hour?" she asked impatiently.
"Do you think I am playing a comedy?" She laughed. "Remember that I
have carried you up and down stairs in my arms," she added, "and I could
do it again!"

"If you insist on going away, I will walk," Marcello answered with a
laugh.

She laughed too, as she rose to her feet. He put out his hand to fill
his glass again, but she stopped him.

"No," she said, "the wine keeps you awake, and makes you think you are
stronger than you are. You shall sleep to-night, and to-morrow we will
go. I am so glad it is settled!"

She could do what she would with him, and so it turned out that Marcello
left Paris without going to see the Contessa and Aurora; and when he was
fairly away he felt that it was a relief not to be able to see them,
since it would have been his duty to do so if he had stayed another day.
Maddalena dell' Armi had not believed that he would come, but she
stopped at home that afternoon on the bare possibility. Aurora made up
her mind that if he came she would shut herself up in her own room. She
expected that he would certainly call before the evening, and was
strangely disappointed because he did not.

"Who was that lady with him last night?" she asked of her mother.

"I do not know that--lady," answered the Contessa, with a very slight
hesitation before pronouncing the last word.

But they had both heard of Regina already.

CHAPTER X

The Contessa wrote to Corbario two days later, addressing her letter to
Rome, as she did not know where he was. It was not like her to meddle in
the affairs of other people, or to give advice, but this was a special
case, and she felt that something must be done to save Marcello; for she
was a woman of the world, with much experience and few illusions, and
she understood at a glance what was happening to her dead friend's son.
She wrote to Folco, telling him of the accidental meeting in the portico
of the Theatre Francais, describing Marcello's looks, and saying pretty
clearly what she thought of the extremely handsome young woman who was
with him.

Now Paris is a big city, and i