go to Paris. I am
bitterly disappointed, but monsignore has made other plans for me. I am
to go to Vienna to visit my aunt, whose husband is our ambassador there.
The tour to Paris is postponed till the autumn."

Evidently monsignore had heard of the little heretic maiden, and he was
going to remove his ward from temptation. I was infinitely obliged to
him.

A desultory conversation followed, carried on principally by the young
people, and then the count said, "Miss St. Clair tells me that you have
visited the Uffizi and Pitti galleries. May I not go with you somewhere
to-morrow?--to La Certose or San Miniato, for instance?"

"Thank you," I replied: "we are so exhausted with sight-seeing, Miss St.
Clair and I, that we shall stay in all day to-morrow, and we shall be
happy to see you _once_ in the afternoon or evening, as may be most
convenient for you."

I did not like to be hard and cross to the dear boy whom my heart
yearned over, but I felt as much bound to "make an effort" as if I had
been a veritable Dombey.

The call lasted afternoon _and_ evening: it was only the change of
a particle. I could not reproduce the innocent talk, half gay, half sad,
of this long interview, but before he went away the count drew me aside:
"Will you give this to Miss St. Clair when I am gone?"

I unfolded the package: it contained a photograph of himself and a small
painting which he had executed of the Coliseum on the night of the
illumination. "Yes."

"And will you send me her photograph from Paris? I will have it copied
by the best miniature-painter in Rome and put in a locket set with
diamonds," said the boy enthusiastically.

"I cannot promise."

"Do you think I could be of any use to her father? Not to win his favor,
you understand, but I should be so happy to do anything to serve her or
her friends. Can't you tell me now?"

"No. Mr. St. Clair does not need assistance in any way that I know."

In spite of the boy's earnestness, the idea of his offering patronage to
the mature and independent American struck me as irresistibly ludicrous.

"But you will tell him all about me."

"Yes."

"I shall learn to speak English--I have begun already--and in a year I
shall be in America. Will you write your address for me on this card?"

I did so.

"If you ever come to Spain, remember that my house and all that is in it
are yours."

"I shall never go to Spain."

"Perhaps you will one day to see Miss St. Clair," looking