Fru Bjork answered slowly, a little streamer of salad waving at the corner of her mouth.

"I don't agree with you; I have not found them inconsiderate."

"Then you have been more fortunate than I. I must say, however, that the young men are worse than the young women. Only the other day I asked a young man to give me _the_ piece of chicken in a frica.s.see, and he gave me the neck."

Astrid stifled a wild giggle in her serviette. The old lady turned to her.

"Are you choking? Get someone to thump your back! But there has been much worse--" she again trained her eye on Fru Bjork,--"just think, last night I never closed an eye, for two thoughtless young men who had the room next to mine, were packing up to go, and they dragged their heavy boxes about and made such a noise that I couldn't sleep at all! It was most inconsiderate of them towards one so much older and so far from strong!"

Astrid's choking became violent. Her room was next to that of the young men, and they had made such a noise that at last she had knocked on the part.i.tion asking them to be quiet. They had answered, begging her pardon, explaining that they had been trying to wake the old lady whose sonorous snoring made it impossible to sleep. And in fact, the snoring had been a running accompaniment to the various thumps and bangs, and had continued on, triumphant and undiminished.

"You had better go to your room, Astrid," said her mother. She had heard the story, and in her kindness of heart was afraid of hurting the old lady's feelings.

Ragna rose also, glad of an excuse to go.

"Oh," gasped Astrid, as they left the room, "that old woman will kill me yet. 'So inconsiderate of them!'" she mocked.

"Hush," said Ragna, laughing, "she will hear you!"

"I don't care if she does!" said Astrid, "horrid old mole! She told me I looked consumptive, and that my colour was a hectic flush. If she can see that much she ought to be able to help herself at table!"

Ragna went to her room and sat down on her bed. She felt all in a whirl.

The Prince in Rome! And he wished her to be his friend! She was uneasily conscious that she should have spoken of the meeting to Fru Bjork--but the Prince did not wish it. "I suppose on account of his being incognito," she told herself--but reason told her that his official presence would have rendered any intercourse impossible.

"It's like a fairy-tale come true, to have seen him again," she thought, "but I will not meet him to-morrow. Of course there would be no harm if I did. I am old enough to take care of myself,--but I shall not, it would be better not."

She was still going over in her mind the conversation of the morning, when Astrid and Fru Bjork entered, ready for the drive. Ragna started guiltily and Astrid pointed a derisive finger:

"Behold the punctual Ragna! Who's late this time, Miss?"

"I'll be ready in a second," said Ragna flying about the room, while Fru Bjork subsided to a chair, settling her bonnet strings under her double chin.

"There, there!" she said in her comfortable way, "don't hurry so, there's no harm done!"

"Now I'm ready!" cried Ragna.

"Why, my child," exclaimed Fru Bjork, "you have one grey glove and one tan one, and you have put your green coat over your blue frock!"

Astrid giggled, "The air of Rome must have gone to your head!"

Ragna, much confused, rectified her mistakes, and the party set out.

They drove to the Doria Pamphilj gardens and afterwards to the Janiculum. Fru Bjork stopped the carriage and they got out and walked.

Ragna loved the view from that point better than any other she had seen; the huge ma.s.s of St. Peter's, towering like a t.i.tan above the city dwarfing all else by the symmetrical immensity of the dome, fascinated and held her. It dominated humanity, she thought even as it dominated Rome,--the Mother Church, Mistress of the World, rising triumphant on the ruins of the past.

She would willingly have stood there for hours, but the early winter dusk was falling; Astrid shivered and Fru Bjork said "Home."

The return drive through the Trastevere was a delight to Ragna, though Astrid turned up her delicate nose at the variety of smells, and Fru Bjork commented at length on the unhealthfulness of defective drainage.

To Ragna it seemed a fairy world, and the hour after sunset, "blind man's holiday" brought out all the wonder and mystery of it, throwing a kindly veil over dirt and sordid details. Lights twinkled in the winding streets, and as they pa.s.sed Hilda's Tower they saw the glow of the lamp in the shrine. And beneath it all, there ran as an undercurrent in Ragna's mind, the Prince in Rome!

CHAPTER II

When Ragna opened her eyes the next morning, she had the impression of opening them to a new life, different from that of yesterday; there was something to look forward to,--just what, her sleepy memory refused to say. Then as she stirred and sat up, it came back to her, and again she declared: "I shall not go to meet him, it would be foolish!"

But she dressed with unusual care, and went to the dining-room for breakfast, afraid of finding Astrid ready to accompany her, and at the same time almost hoping for it. Astrid, however, had elected to spend the morning in bed; she had got a chill, she said, from the drive the day before, and yawning, buried her face in the sleeve of her blue flannel bed-jacket. So Ragna started out alone, and resolutely set her face towards the Vatican. She had gone but a short distance, however, when she wheeled about, and walked as rapidly in the opposite direction.

"It can do no harm if I meet him this once," she argued. Then, "I suppose I am a fool." A panic seized her, suppose he should not come, after all? As she turned the end of the Forum, she saw the graceful figure of Prince Mirko coming to meet her.

"I knew it!" he cried joyously, waving his hat like a school-boy. "I knew you would not disappoint me!"

His gaiety was infectious, and Ragna's laugh echoed his. He took the red guide-book from her hand, and held it up accusingly.

"Why have you brought this? I told you, you would not need one with me!"

he cried, stuffing the offending book into his pocket.

They pa.s.sed through the turnstile, and strolled up the path in the wake of the official guide. The bright Roman sunshine illuminated the Forum below, gilding the columns and casting short blue shadows in the excavations. Overhead, the sky was a deep rich blue, and the air was charged with the peculiar sweetness of approaching Spring. The guide walked slowly, his hands in his pockets, humming an air from Rigoletto: "_Questao quella per me pari sono_,"--Mirko hummed it also, then broke into "_La donno e mobile_," giving it with rollicking voice.

Ragna smiled at him.

"In the opera it is the man who is 'mobile,' in spite of what the song says!"

"Oh, no, the song is quite right--when a man is openly unfaithful, it is only in answer to a secret defection on the part of the woman. Any intelligent woman who wishes to keep a man, can do it--you can always be sure that it is really the woman's fault if a man strays in his allegiance."

"That is an extremely convenient theory," said Ragna, laughing, "but it is a poor rule that won't work both ways. Would you make the man responsible for infidelity on the part of the woman?"

"Oh, that is a very different matter!"

"Why should it be?"

"You will not pretend, I suppose, that a woman is exactly the same as a man? The difference between them alters the whole aspect of the case."

"Oh!" said Ragna, "you are incorrigible, you twist and turn so,--you will never meet me fairly!"

"The infidelity of man," continued Mirko, "is different in its very essence from that of woman,--it is quite possible for a man to be constant when he is apparently most unfaithful--the superficial change only enhances the charm of the real affection; he never tires of coming back to it,--if he were never to leave it, it would pall on him."

"Why will you be so paradoxical?"

"It is not I who am paradoxical,--it is life."

They were so absorbed in their conversation, that the guide found no way of attracting their attention; in vain did he hem and haw, and sc.r.a.pe his foot on the gravel.

"They are most certainly a '_viaggio di nozze_,'" he thought, "or perhaps '_fidanzati_'--as such they will be generous."

Finally, as they came to the entrance to the ruins, he stepped before them with a commanding gesture.