"This, Signori, is the gallery where the Empress sat with her ladies.

You see it overlooks the street where the chariots pa.s.sed up to the palace. The palace itself was built out over the way, and the people went under it as under a bridge."

"See," said Mirko, "can you not imagine it,--the beautiful gallery, with its marble bal.u.s.trade, hung with woven carpets and silken draperies--there before you in the sunlight? Do you not see the Empress, beautiful, stately, robed in purple, gems and gold-dust in her dark hair, wonderful jewels on her neck and arms? There are the ladies,--the proud dark one just behind her, the fair girl leaning over the bal.u.s.trade at her side, with the gold of the sun on her hair, on her white dress, and the other three, laughing together, over there to the left? The slave-girls are holding peac.o.c.k-feather fans to shield their royal mistress, and the slave-boys, beautiful, fair-haired captives, have brought baskets of fruit and sweets. And down in the street below, what a crowd, what a riot of colour! The Caesar on his white horse with the gold trappings--do you catch the gleam of his burnished helmet, of his cuira.s.s? He turns his head haughtily, and gathers up the reins in his hand; his short sword clatters against his thigh as his horse moves on. There, just behind him, comes the centurion of his escort, brave to see in his flaunting scarlet cloak, and the legionaries follow, like so many animated bronze statues. See--the fair waiting-maid by the Empress has dropped a rose to the centurion--he looks up and smiles--his teeth flash white--the slaves, carrying jars and baskets on their heads, have flattened themselves against the walls, to let the procession go by,--it moves like a glittering snake up the narrow way.--Hark! the salute of the palace guard, spear rattling on shield, and the shout 'Ave Caesar!'

It echoes under the vaulted way--and all Rome is in that cry!"

Mirko was flushed with enthusiasm; he threw back his head, and the clear-cut features of his cla.s.sic face glowed, his dark eyes flashed, he seemed the very incarnation of that "l.u.s.t of the eye and pride of life,"

of that "grandeur that was Rome."

As he spoke, Ragna saw the pageant of those far off days unrolled before her. She felt the throbbing of all the pa.s.sionate life of old, where but a few minutes before there had been but moss-grown stone and crumbling ruins. He had laid a spell on her; she was for the moment, by virtue of his imagination, and its dramatic expression, actually living in the past, feeling its reality.

And so it continued throughout the morning. In the long paved underground pa.s.sage way, Mirko showed her Caesar, carried along in his litter, returning from his theatre. She saw the flickering light of the torches, heard the sandalled footsteps of the slaves,--their heavy breathing, the creak of the poles. And at the foot of the stairs she saw the sudden confusion,--the dark-cloaked a.s.sa.s.sins stealing from the shadow, she heard the shrieks, the cries of "Treason!" "Murder!" She saw in glimpses between the surging figures, the white-faced Emperor, struggling from his litter,--his unwieldy form leapt upon, borne back and down, then blows,--a gurgling groan. She saw the overturned litter, the crumpled body on the floor, the widening pool of blood,--then flight to the long flare of torches s.n.a.t.c.hed from the trembling slaves, then darkness, and the alarm.

She saw the gay crowds, trooping into the Circus Maximus, the arrival in procession of Caesar, aeditor of the games. She watched breathless the speeding chariots, and carried out of herself, with flushed cheeks and shining eyes, joined in the thunderous applause which acclaimed the victor,--the hoa.r.s.e roar which must, it seemed, shake the very foundations of Rome.

When it was all over, and the guide had beamingly pocketed his _mancia_ and they were in the street again, Ragna drew a long breath.

"It has been wonderful!"

"Then you are satisfied with your cicerone? You are convinced that a guide-book is unnecessary?"

"Oh," she answered, "the book makes it all into a cemetery,--or a table of dates,--but you have made Rome live.--It can never be the same now, as it was before; I have been there, I have seen it, it is part of me,--and without you I should never have known anything of it at all.

How do you do it? How do you bring it all to life?"

Mirko smiled, well pleased with the result of his effort and with himself.

"I have been there."

"Been there! How?"

"I was once a Roman, I feel it, I know it!"

"Yes," she answered, "I think you must have been,--I can feel that you have been--you have made me feel it."

They were silent for a few minutes, and Ragna repeated:

"It has been wonderful!"

When they had parted, and Ragna found herself alone, the wonder of it grew on her. How blind she had been until the Prince opened her eyes!

She was very glad that she had come, all her half-formulated scruples were laid at rest. How foolish she had been to imagine any possible harm!--What could be more innocent or more delightful than their informal comradeship? He was quite right too, in wishing to keep it all to themselves. Astrid would not, could not understand, still less so good, prosaic-minded Fru Bjork, and as for Estelle Hagerup! Ragna laughed scornfully, as there rose before her mental vision the gra.s.shopper-like silhouette of that strenuous spinster.

At luncheon, looking about her at the commonplace faces of her fellow sojourners, she could not repress a secret movement of vanity.

"How many of these," she thought, "would give their eyes to spend a morning like mine,--and with a friend like mine!" She even pitied Astrid,--poor Astrid, who had never known a Prince!

Estelle Hagerup announced a discovery--she had a voice.

"My dears," she said with pride, "what a voice! Just as clear as crystal, and very powerful--and to think I never knew of it before!"

"How did you find it out, Estelle?" asked Ragna and Astrid together.

"I was standing on the top tier of the Colosseum, and the impulse came over me to sing--so I lifted up my voice and sang. I wish you could have been there to hear! A _custode_ came running at once and was much impressed. He said he had never heard anything like it in his life. I gave him a lira, and he said '_grazie Contessa_.' He refused to leave me after that, and waited till I was ready to go with the greatest deference."

"Are you thinking of the operatic stage?" asked Astrid wickedly.

"Perhaps that may come later, when I shall have acquired a repertory."

"You will have to study," said the old Swedish lady. "There was a young woman here last winter studying music, and she sang scales three hours a day; she had a room next mine. I should advise you to go to Florence--they say there are better singing-masters there."

"I shall not sing scales," said Estelle firmly.

"I thought one always had to," put in Ragna.

"Not with a voice like mine; my voice is far beyond scales."

"That is very satisfactory, dear Froken," said the old lady. "My dear,"

this to Ragna, "will you give me the largest tartlet,--the one with the most jam on it?"

"I hope," remarked Fru Bjork, "that you will do nothing so silly as to train for the stage, Estelle." She was about to add, "at your age, too,"

but refrained.

Estelle simpered.

"Why should it be silly, Fru Bjork, if I feel it to be my vocation? Why should I not give utterance to the sacred fire that is within me? Is it not my duty to humanity?"

Fru Bjork found no answer to this, and held her peace, but Ragna was more daring.

"Do you think you have a stage presence, Estelle?" she asked.

"Why not? I am tall--besides, it is much more important to have voice and temperament. I feel it my mission to redeem the stage. Why do you ask me such a question?"

Ragna was saved from answering by the old lady.

"My dear! My dear! Pick me out something before they carry the fruit around! Last evening that man with the whiskers at the end of the table took the last banana, before I had a chance."

Ragna rose from the table in disgust. She longed to be back in the past again with Prince Mirko--all these present things seemed so vulgar and common by contrast, and yet until now, they had amused her! She looked about the dining-room and despised the men in it. A stout German with his napkin tucked in at the neck, sprawled over his plate, emitting hideous grunts and smacks, at the other end of the room, two well-nourished Englishmen sat with their families like self-satisfied roosters with their feathered following. At her own table, an anaemic and dreamy-eyed art-student played with his dessert, an Italian Commendatore with white whiskers, and a rotund waistcoat, beamed on his neighbours, and a gentleman with marvellous tight striped trousers, a still more marvellous moustache and a flamboyant necktie, was lighting a cigarette.

"How vulgar, how horrid they are!" thought Ragna.

CHAPTER III

It seemed to Ragna that she had opened her eyes on a new Heaven and a new Earth. As the days went on and lengthened into weeks, she grew so dependent on the companionship of Prince Mirko, that if a day pa.s.sed without her seeing him, she felt blank and as though defrauded of a pleasure that was hers by right. A curious change, too, had taken place in her mental or rather sentimental att.i.tude, for whereas at first, she had dreaded his recalling the, to her, unforgetable episode of the last evening on the _Norje_, she now felt secretly piqued by his lack of memory, and by his mere friendliness. It was as though she were disappointed in not having to ward off unwelcome--or too welcome--advances. The pa.s.sionate impulsiveness of him, as she remembered it, but threw into greater relief the measured comradeship of his present att.i.tude towards her. A more experienced woman would have suspected him of "parti pris," for a purpose, but Ragna saw nothing but genuine indifference, and her feminine vanity urged her to force him into recognition of the womanhood he had been instrumental in awakening.

Therefore the simple almost childlike relations of the first days had insensibly given way to a state of tension which Mirko understood and was ready to turn to his advantage, but which Ragna did not understand in the least. Here her real innocence was the weak point in her armour.

Several days pa.s.sed thus, each waiting for a sign. Mirko with perspicacity, and Ragna with a sort of subconscious expectation.

One afternoon towards the end of February they were standing by the bal.u.s.trade of the Pincio watching the sunset. The sky was a gorgeous riot of crimson and gold, across which were flung like flaunting royal pennants, long streamers of dark purple clouds. The very air was luminous and golden, and the bells ringing for vespers in the amethyst and grey city below, filled the ear with triumphant clangour. The carriages were leaving the drive and rolled by silently under the grey-green ilexes, the noise of the horses and of the wheels drowned by the ringing of the bells. Ragna stood in ecstasy, her hands tightly clasped, looking out over the sea of roofs and towers to where the great Dome rose bubble-like, silhouetted against the glowing sky. Her face was flushed, her eyes shining, her parted lips quivered. Mirko watching her said to himself: