"_Ecco!_" she said, "that is better! You shall not get up for luncheon, Signorina, I will bring you a tray here."

"You are a good soul, Rosa," said Ragna, touched by the maid's kindly attentions.

Rosa smiled cheerfully, and went out, closing the door gently behind her.

The fire had given Ragna an idea; she crept out of bed and took from her writing case Angelescu's sketch of Prince Mirko, and the portraits of him she had cut from ill.u.s.trated journals. She looked at them in turn, the handsome, smiling, indifferent face looked out from the slips of paper, as it always had, but to her it was changed. She saw now, as she had not before, the selfish hardness of the sensual mouth, the nonchalant boldness of the almond-shaped eyes, the impress of self-indulgence over the whole face. This, then, was her dream-hero, this! Have all idols clay feet, she wondered? It was more than love she had lost, more than innocence,--it was the ideal of all her girlhood, all her maiden hopes and dreams. Tears filled her eyes; suddenly she lifted the pictures to her lips, and kissed them pa.s.sionately, then dashing the tears away, she laid them, one by one on the fire, watched them flame up and shrivel to fluttering black rags,--and crept back to bed.

"It is over," she thought, "all over. I will put the past behind me, as though nothing had been; it is destroyed, as the flames destroyed the pictures. It is idiotic to pretend that one little hour of weakness can ruin one's whole life! I shall put it behind me, I shall forget it all, I shall wipe it from my memory. It shall not influence my life--except that I shall be wiser in the future."

So said Ragna; she had yet to realize that the future is made up of the past--of a thousand pasts, that one can no more wipe a past event out of one's life, than one can discard all one's past personality, the growth of years and of circ.u.mstance, and put on a new one. Every act has it consequence, and the complex interweaving of these consequences build up what men call fate,--also we are bound as much by the consequences of the acts of others, as by those of our own,--we are bound by the acts of countless generations past. Every day that pa.s.ses, we dislodge stones that shall rebound, we know not where, or when, in the years to come, stones that shall wound men and women we will never know, who will be unconscious of our existence.

CHAPTER VII

The whole party was dull as a result of the _veglione_, following in that the general relaxation in the surrounding atmosphere.

With the evening of _Mardi Gras_, the carnival gaiety had reached its highest pitch, the flame had burnt itself out with the _moccoli_ and the reaction precipitated the city from an orgy of light and colour into the grey asceticism of fasting and prayer. Rome, for six weeks, turned her back on the World, the Flesh and the Devil. The gay crowds who had paraded the streets in mask and domino now flocked to the churches for early Ma.s.s, the charming sinner sought the confessional, and if, on Sundays, irrepressible Frivolity lifted a corner of the pall of Piety, giving the outer world a glimpse of twinkling eyes and flashing teeth, Monday promptly replaced the black veil. Even the sun was keeping Lent; day after day the dawn rose on grey, sodden skies. Draggled black-robed priests plodded unceasingly through the rain, and dripping mult.i.tudes thronged the churches tramping the slime of the streets in over the marble floors.

"I've had enough of this!" Astrid complained over and over again, "for Heaven's sake let us get to some place where the sun shines!"

Estelle Hagerup had lost her enthusiasm for the Eternal City, with all the pictures covered up in the churches, and the awful weather that kept one from getting about there was nothing left to do, she declared. Even listening to a sweet-voiced gentleman in striped trousers, singing "_Lontano del mar_" is apt to pall on one, especially if the said gentleman happens to know no other song.

To Ragna the penitential weeks were most irksome, as above all else she wished to forget, and the very spirit of the season, imbued as it was with introspection, examination of conscience, and the reviewing of past days, would, in spite of her efforts, insistently present to her mental vision that which she most desired to blot from her memory. She shunned the churches for the very reiteration of the endless litanies seemed to take possession of her thoughts and drive them in a vicious circle, round and round and ever back again to the same old theme. Pagan Rome was no better; filled as it was, with painful a.s.sociation it could afford her no relief. It was with unfeigned joy then, that she greeted Fru Bjork's decision to leave the Eternal City for Florence.

So they packed their boxes and set their faces Northward. Estelle Hagerup had proposed a stop at a.s.sisi and a deviation to Perugia, but Astrid yawningly declared she had seen enough churches to last her the rest of her life, and Ragna was too indifferent to care, so the proposition was overruled and it was decided to take the journey direct.

They drove to the railway station through a steady downpour, the rain dripped from the roofs, spattered up from the pavements, ran in streams from the umbrellas of the few pa.s.sers-by in the streets.

"Well," said Astrid, "if this is Sunny Italy, give me Christiania!"

They had installed themselves in an empty second-cla.s.s compartment and thought to keep it to themselves, but just as the guard was vociferating for the third time "_p.r.o.nti!_" and "_Partenza!_" the door was flung open and a man got in. He was of middle height, neither stout nor thin, and might have been of any age between thirty and fifty. His dark grizzled hair was brushed back from a high, rather prominent forehead, and his dark grey eyes looked out with a kindly expression from behind a gold-mounted pince-nez. He had a good nose and his mouth was firm and well modelled, though partially hid by his short moustache and dark beard. He bowed to the ladies and having bestowed a heavy valise in the rack above his head, settled himself to read a newspaper which he drew from his pocket. Ragna noticed his hands which were well-shaped and had the suppleness and delicacy of touch belonging to medical men, especially surgeons--also they were scrupulously well-kept.

The train moved out slowly over the Campagna, towards the hills, and Ragna leaned out the window, taking a last look at the city where she had left faith and innocence. As the city receded in the misty distance, the Pagan relics disappeared; the dome of St. Peter's towered mystically above the town, drawing the eye irresistibly, seeming to say: "All else pa.s.ses, but I the Faith of the Ages, I remain." Then a heavy curtain of rain swept down, obscuring the view, and she sank back in her seat. The train swerved round a curve, and with the change of direction the rain blew in at the open window; Ragna tugged at the strap, trying to raise it, but it resisted her efforts.

"Allow me," said a voice over her shoulder, in French; it was the man of the newspaper. He took the strap from her hands, and with a jerk sent the refractory pane into place.

"It is a wet day," he remarked as though he felt called upon to apologise for the climate. "I regret that _ces dames_ should be seeing Italy in such unfavourable circ.u.mstances."

Fru Bjork answered him. "Indeed, we cannot complain, we have had such beautiful weather until quite recently."

"Mesdames have been long in Rome?"

"Three months."

"And you enjoyed the Carnival?"

"It was great fun!" interposed Astrid.

"Too much fun," said Estelle, lowering the guide-ook she had been reading, and peering out over the rims of her spectacles. "You look a perfect rag, Astrid, and Ragna too. Too much dissipation!"

"Ah!" exclaimed the gentleman, deprecatingly, glancing from one girl to another, adjusting his pince-nez the while, "mademoiselles are tired, then--from too much sight-seeing, perhaps?"

Ragna flushed and made no reply, but Astrid, throwing an angry glance at Estelle, answered:

"Everyone is not as strong as a horse, and the stairs in Rome are simply awful."

"Mademoiselle is perhaps a little anaemic?" Then as the girl looked surprised he added, "I beg your pardon, but I am a physician and have seen too strenuous sight-seeing have that effect on many young lady travellers. Allow me to present myself: Dr. Ferrari, of Florence." He bowed in the direction of Fru Bjork who responded, naming herself, and the others of her party.

The Doctor bowed to each in turn but his eyes rested longest on Ragna--their kindly penetration could give no offence, however, one instinctively trusted the man. The girl puzzled him, her gravity seemed unnatural in one so young; she seemed consciously keyed up to a certain pitch of conduct, her smile was forced, and when the tension was relaxed owing to her thinking herself un.o.bserved, or to a moment of forgetfulness, the corners of her mouth drooped and her eyes fixed their gaze on a point in s.p.a.ce, as though visualizing something of ineffable sadness. In this state she would start on being spoken to and a flash, almost of fear, would pa.s.s in her eyes.

As the day pa.s.sed he studied her more and more. "She has had some terrible experience," he said to himself, "but she is fighting it down, and will succeed." He also observed that whatever might be haunting her secret thoughts, it was unknown to the others of the party. He set himself to distract her mind, to amuse her, and was rewarded by her instant response to his efforts; she brightened perceptibly under the influence of his respectfully friendly manner.

Fru Bjork was charmed by this acquaintance chance had thrown in their way; never a suspicious woman, looking for good rather than evil, she succ.u.mbed readily to her instinctive confidence in him. Before the journey was over, she had tentatively sounded him as to his opinion on Astrid's health, promising herself a regular consultation when a more favourable opportunity should offer. Astrid liked him, and even Estelle Hagerup, though in her estimation men were but poor things at best, and only deserving of consideration in proportion to their scientific or artistic attainments.

Fru Bjork offered the Doctor a share of the substantial luncheon provided for the party, and he accepted, insisting on contributing as his share in the picnic, some _fiaschetti_ of _vino_ d'Orveito. He filled the little travelling gla.s.ses of each in turn, and handed them about, overriding Ragna's objection that she did not care for wine, laughingly ordering her to drink it by virtue of his professional authority. She raised the gla.s.s to her lips, but as she tasted the wine, the colour left her cheeks and the gla.s.s slipping from her hand was shattered on the floor of the compartment. There was a general outcry from all but Ferrati, who watched her with a grave, almost worried expression.

"How clumsy I am!" said Ragna, blushing and laughing nervously. "I can't imagine how I came to drop it!"

The Doctor carefully gathered up the pieces of gla.s.s, wrapped them in a paper, and threw them out the window. He forebore to offer the girl another gla.s.s of wine and she was grateful to him for his intuitive consideration.

"The wine reminds her of something," he thought.

Estelle presently spoke of the singing lessons she expected to take in Florence, and Astrid also said she would like to cultivate her voice.

"Does Mademoiselle Andersen also sing?" inquired Ferrati.

Ragna shook her head.

"But you would like to take up something to pa.s.s the time?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" said Ragna with evident eagerness.

"Why not try painting then, or drawing?"

"Oh, I do not think I could."

"All the more reason for learning, then--and you will at least gain the advantage of being able to appreciate the work of our great Masters, in a way that a person who knows nothing of painting never can."

"I should love to have drawing lessons," said Astrid, always eager for anything new. "We used to like them at the convent, do you remember, Ragna?"

"Yes, but they were so silly, nothing but set copies."

"I think it would be a good thing for both you girls," said Fru Bjork.

"Perhaps Dr. Ferrati may be able to recommend me a good drawing-master for you?"

"I think I can, Madame. There is a young artist, a friend of mine, who, owing to reverses of fortune in his family, has been thrown on his own resources, and would be glad of the lessons. He is an excellent draughtsman, and I am sure the young ladies would learn more with him in a short time, than with a professor of the cla.s.sic school."