"Never mind why not. You can't do it, I tell you," she cried excitedly.

He looked at her as if trying to penetrate her meaning, and then said:

"We shall see."

At that moment the fretful voice of the Countess was heard calling to the Baron from the adjoining room.

II

Roma went to her bedroom when the Baron left her, and remained there until late in the afternoon. In spite of the bold front she had put on, she was quaking with terror and tortured by remorse. Never before had she realised David Rossi's peril with such awful vividness, and seen her own position in relation to him in its hideous nakedness.

Was it her duty to confess to David Rossi that at the beginning of their friendship she had set out to betray him? Only so could she be secure, only so could she be honest, only so could she be true to the love he gave her and the trust he reposed in her.

Yet why should she confess? The abominable impulse was gone. Something sweet and tender had taken its place. To confess to him now would be cruel. It would wound his beautiful faith in her.

And yet the seeds she had sown were beginning to fructify. They might spring up anywhere at any moment, and choke the life that was dearer to her than her own. Thank God, it was still impossible to injure him except by her will and assistance. But her will might be broken and her assistance might be forced, unless the law could be invoked to protect her against itself. It could and it should be invoked! When she was married to David Rossi no law in Italy would compel her to witness against him.

But if Rossi hesitated from any cause, if he delayed their marriage, if he replied unfavourably to the letter in which she had put aside all modesty and asked him to marry her soon--what then? How was she to explain his danger? How was she to tell him that he must marry her before Parliament rose, or she might be the means of expelling him from the Chamber, and perhaps casting him into prison for life? How was she to say: "I was Delilah; I set out to betray you, and unless you marry me the wicked work is done!"

The afternoon was far spent; she had eaten nothing since morning, and was lying face down on the bed, when a knock came to the door.

"The person in the studio to see you," said Felice.

It was Bruno in Sunday attire, with little Joseph in top-boots, and more than ever like the cub of a young lion.

"A letter from him," said Bruno.

It was from Rossi. She took it without a word of greeting, and went back to her bedroom. But when she returned a moment afterwards her face was transformed. The clouds had gone from it and the old radiance had returned. All the brightness and gaiety of her usual expression were there as she came swinging into the drawing-room and filling the air with the glow of health and happiness.

"_That's_ all right," she said. "Tell Mr. Rossi I shall expect to see him soon ... or no, don't say that ... say that as he is over head and ears in work this week, he is not to think it necessary.... Oh, say anything you like," she said, and the pearly teeth and lovely eyes broke into an aurora of smiles.

Bruno, whose bushy face and shaggy head had never once been raised since he came into the room, said:

"He's busy enough, anyway--what with this big meeting coming off on Wednesday, and the stairs to his room as full of people as the Santa Scala."

"So you've brought little Joseph to see me at last?" said Roma.

"He has bothered my life out to bring him ever since you said he was to be your porter some day."

"And why not? Gentlemen ought to call on the ladies, oughtn't they, Joseph?"

And Joseph, whose curly poll had been hiding behind the leg of his father's trousers, showed half of a face that was shining all over.

"See! See here--do you know who _this_ is? This gentleman in the bust?"

"Uncle David," said the boy.

"What a clever boy you are, Joseph!"

"Doesn't want much cleverness to know that, though," said Bruno. "It's wonderful! it's magnificent! And it will shut up all their damned ...

excuse me, miss, excuse _me_."

"And Joseph still intends to be a porter?"

"Dead set on it, and says he wouldn't change his profession to be a king."

"Quite right, too! And now let us look at something a little birdie brought me the other day. Come along, Joseph. Here it is. Down on your knees, gentleman, and help me to drag it out. One--two--and away!"

From the knee-hole of the desk came a large cardboard box, and Joseph's eyes glistened like big black beads.

"Now, what do you think is in this box, Joseph? Can't guess? Give it up?

Sure? Well, listen! Are you listening? Which do you think you would like best--a porter's cocked hat, or a porter's long coat, or a porter's mace with a gilt hat and a tassel?"

Joseph's face, which had gleamed at every item, clouded and cleared, cleared and clouded at the cruel difficulty of choice, and finally looked over at Bruno for help.

"Choose now--which?"

But Joseph only sidled over to his father, and whispered something which Roma could not hear.

"What does he say?"

"He says it is his birthday on Wednesday," said Bruno.

"Bless him! He shall have them all, then," said Roma, and Joseph's legs as well as his eyes began to dance.

The cords were cut, the box was opened, the wonderful hat and coat and mace were taken out, and Joseph was duly invested. In the midst of this ceremony Roma's black poodle came bounding into the room, and when Joseph strutted out of the boudoir into the drawing-room the dog went leaping and barking beside him.

"Dear little soul!" said Roma, looking after the child; but Bruno, who was sitting with his head down, only answered with a groan.

"What is the matter, Bruno?" she asked.

Bruno brushed his coat-sleeve across his eyes, set his teeth, and said with a savage fierceness:

"What's the matter? Treason's the matter, telling tales and taking away a good woman's character--that's what is the matter! A man who has been eating your bread for years has been lying about you, and he is a rascal and a sneak and a damned scoundrel, and I would like to kick him out of the house."

"And who has been doing all this, Bruno?"

"Myself! It was I who told Mr. Rossi the lies that made him speak against you on the day of the Pope's Jubilee, and when you asked him to come here, I warned him against you, and said you were only going to pay him back and ruin him."

"So you said that, did you?"

"Yes, I did."

"And what did Mr. Rossi say to you?"

"Say to me? 'She's a good woman,' says he, 'and if I have ever said otherwise, I take it all back, and am ashamed.'"