"Poor child," said Mirko, stroking the silky waves of her hair, "I must have been mad! Will you not believe that I was mad, dear,--and forget all that I would have you forget?"

He knelt beside her putting one arm about her; with his free hand he forced her head up from her locked fingers and would have kissed the tears away, but she drew back with horror.

"Oh, no! Never again!"

"Ragna," he pleaded, "but you love me?"

"I did love you--once," she said in a toneless voice. "I did love you--too much."

"No, dearest, not too much--" he started but stopped silenced by the expression of her eyes.

"G.o.d knows," he said impulsively, "that I would give my life not to have hurt you! You were too beautiful,--you maddened me!"

She smiled a little scornfully, very sadly, and the smile condemned him in his own consciousness; in her eyes he saw reflected for the first time the futility of his declarations, the shallow selfishness of his nature. It seemed to him that he shrivelled morally under her gaze. To Ragna he had become a stranger, the dream hero was shattered irremediably; the scales had fallen from her eyes and with a pitilessly clear vision she had seen the paltry egoism of the man's soul. Something had snapped within her,--a light had gone out; she wondered dully if anything could matter very much again.

Mirko rose to his feet rather unsteadily and poured himself a gla.s.s of wine; as he raised it to his lips someone knocked on the door and he started, spilling half the contents of the gla.s.s. Maria's voice called cheerfully.

"The vetturino wants to know at what hour the Signori will start, it is getting late."

"Tell him we will start as soon as he is ready and send me the _addizione_," answered Mirko. He gulped down his wine, and then poured out another gla.s.s and carried it over to Ragna.

"Drink this," he ordered and she obeyed mechanically.

"Now," he said, "put on your hat and smooth your hair a little; don't let these people guess anything."

Ragna flushed, but her pride was touched as he had meant it to be. She rose with an effort and walked lifelessly over to the dressing-table.

She wet the corner of her handkerchief in the jug and dabbled it on her dark-ringed reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks; taking out a little comb from the back of her hair she straightened up her stray locks and resettled her heavy plaits. She put on her hat and tied over it a thick blue veil she found in the pocket of her ulster. When she had finished, she walked to a chair, pa.s.sing the couch with a shudder, and sat down dully.

Maria entered presently, carrying the bill on a plate; she looked curiously from the apathetic girl, shrouded in her heavy veil, to the self-possessed young man,--they were not like any lovers she had seen.

"They must have quarreled," was her reflection. Mirko paid the modest bill and added a generous mancia at which the girl's eyes sparkled, and she thanked him effusively.

"Is the carriage ready?" he inquired.

"_Sissignore, eccola qua!_" As she spoke they heard the little trap rattling and jingling as it drew up outside. Mirko turned to Ragna:

"If you are ready, we will go."

She rose and avoiding his proffered hand, preceded him quickly down the stair and across the kitchen, walking head down, with a furtive air as though trying to escape observation. Maria and the hostess smiled significantly at each other as she pa.s.sed.

She climbed unaided into the carriage and drew her skirts aside as Mirko entered. The hood was drawn up and a large water-proof ap.r.o.n covered their knees, another water-proof strip was fastened at one end to the hood and at the other to the large umbrella that sheltered the driver, so that they were almost in the dark and entirely shielded from the curious gaze of pa.s.sers-by.

They sat in an oppressive silence; Ragna, her hands clasped on her knees, her eyes looking straight before her, her mouth set in a hard line, barely discernible through the thick veil. Mirko was most uncomfortable, and could think of nothing to say or do to relieve the situation. Finally, in desperation, he asked her permission to light a cigarette; she shrugged her shoulders in complete indifference and made no answer; he lit one and puffed away moodily, every now and again casting furtive glances at the girl's averted profile. She sat quite motionless, only shuddering slightly as they pa.s.sed the ruined acqueduct. "The hare is run to earth," she thought bitterly. The drive seemed interminable; the carriage b.u.mped on endlessly over the bad roads, the rain pattered unceasingly on the lowered hood, the driver urged on his steaming beasts in endless monotone--and so on and on and on. It was like a long bad dream.

As they came into the city, the rain stopped, but the air was heavy with a damp, soggy mist through which the street lamps glowed, each set in a luminous halo. The streets were full of a noisy merry crowd and the carriage made slow progress. Once it stopped altogether and a masked Pierrot climbed up on one step, a gay Harlequin on the other while a very masculine _ballerina_ in draggled pink tarletan installed herself or himself beside the driver.

"_T!_" said the Pierrot, and blew out a long paper sausage that squeaked as it collapsed; the Harlequin emptied a shovelful of confetti over the silent pair.

"Who is the mysterious princess?" squeaked the Pierrot, "Unveil! unveil, fair one!"

As Ragna paid no attention he s.n.a.t.c.hed her veil from her face and fell into a pose of ecstatic mock admiration. Ragna threw herself back, alarmed.

"Here!" said Mirko, starting up angrily, "I won't have this! Let the lady alone, will you? Get down!"

"Pray, be more courteous!" mouthed Arlecchino, "_In carnevale ogni scherzo vale._" The crowd shrieked approval.

"Here, then," said Mirko, diving into his pocket and bestowing a gold piece on each masker, "go and drink to the health of your '_carnevale_'

with this."

The _ballerina_ poked a long red cardboard nose down under the hood, squeaking in high falsetto.

"And poor Colombina? Don't forget poor Colombina!"

Mirko found another gold piece for Colombina and the three masks jumped down shouting joyously.

"_Evviva gli sposi!_"

The crowd took up the cry and it rang after the retreating carriage.

Mirko looked at Ragna deprecatingly, but meeting her scornful eyes, turned his own away.

When at last they reached the Piazza Montecitorio he insisted on helping her out, and holding her fast by the hand, asked her:

"Do you really hate me then, after all?"

She drew her hand away from him, and without looking at him said "Good-bye" with a finality of accent not to be mistaken; then the _portone_ swallowed her up. Mirko, with a muttered oath clambered back into the carriage and drove to his hotel. As he entered the lobby he encountered the unexpected form of Angelescu.

"When did you come?" he asked in surprise.

"At noon, and I have been waiting for you ever since. I have a message for you from the King--" he spoke the last word in a whisper.

"The devil you have! What's up?"

"You'll know soon enough," said the other significantly.

"Am I to be restored to grace?"

"Oh, yes, but there is a certain amount of humble-pie to be eaten first.

Also they are determined to clip your wings for the future--there is question of a marriage."

"Marriage--whew! Who is the lady, may I ask?"

Angelescu named a princess, Mirko's senior by several years and not renowned for her good looks. Mirko made a wry face.

"His Majesty is awfully keen on it, and if you were to upset the arrangement by any fresh escapades, I fancy your bed would not be of roses for some time to come--I hope you haven't been getting into any sc.r.a.pes here?" He looked suspiciously at Mirko's tell-tale countenance.

"Come along, old man," said Mirko putting his arm through Angelescu's.

"There is nothing very terrible--and nothing to be very proud of either; I'll tell you all about it presently. By the way I want you to do something for me to-night. I want you to take a message to a lady at the _veglione_."

"Why don't you go yourself?"