he
wore an ample garment of purple silk, of no particular shape, but cut
low at the throat and having wide sleeves which displayed a pair of
rather nervous white arms; her black hair was knotted low at the back
of her neck, and she wore a wreath of fresh bay laurel that was very
becoming to her young face. She was one of those strangely talented
creatures, still found in Italy, and most often amongst the people, who
have the gift of improvising very creditable verses and music on any
subject that is given them, or even upon a set of rhymes, after
concentrating their thoughts for a time which rarely exceeds two
minutes, and is often only a few seconds.

Don Alberto, who knew the programme of the entertainment, had
manoeuvred skilfully. The girl appeared on the stage, lute in hand,
and began to approach the wet clay bust of Christina with the mournfully
inspired air of a Cassandra going up to the altar and image of Apollo;
at the same moment Don Alberto found himself with Ortensia before an
open door on the left side of the portico, a little farther back than
the hindmost of the audience. Every one was watching the stage.

'An "improvisatrice,"' the young man whispered quickly. 'Tiresome
rubbish! I will show you the statues while it is going on.'

Ortensia obeyed his gesture and passed through the door into a large
hall where a quantity of fragments of antique statues were lying on the
stone floor, or were propped upright against the walls, while
half-a-dozen of the best were already set up on Corinthian capitals, or
ancient altars, which served as pedestals.

Don Alberto had quietly closed the door behind him when he followed
Ortensia into the hall. It was the first time he had succeeded in being
alone with her since the night of the serenade.

'I trust you will accept my humblest excuses, dear lady,' he said as
they both stood still, 'for having unwillingly broken off my little
serenade the other night. I had intended it as a welcome to you and your
husband on the first night you spent under my roof, but I had not
thought of bringing a brace of cut-throats with me, as my rival did!
They were too much for me--I wish I knew his name!'

Don Alberto laughed pleasantly and looked at her, waiting for an answer.
At the word 'cut-throats' she made a slight movement of surprise, and
was on the point of indignantly attacking him for applying such a word
to the friends who had brought about her marriage with Stradella; but