His face darkened for a moment with some powerful emotion, then resumed

its kindly aspect, and he turned back to the old man without looking at

the occupant of the carriage.

It was a lady. She was tall, with a bold sweep of fulness in figure,

which was on a large scale of beauty. Her hair, which was abundant and

worn full over the forehead, was raven black and glossy, and it threw

off the sunshine that fell on her face. Her complexion had a golden

tint, and her eyes, which were violet, had a slight recklessness of

expression. Her carriage drew up at the entrance of the palace, and the

porter, with the silver-headed staff, came running and bowing to receive

her. She rose to her feet with a consciousness of many eyes upon her,

and with an unabashed glance she looked around on the crowd.

There was a sulky silence among the people, almost a sense of

antagonism, and if anybody had cheered there might have been a counter

demonstration. At the same time, there was a certain daring in that

marked brow and steadfast smile which seemed to say that if anybody had

hissed she would have stood her ground.

She lifted from the blue silk cushions of the carriage a small

half-clipped black poodle with a bow of blue ribbon on its forehead,

tucked it under her arm, stepped down to the street, and passed into the

courtyard, leaving an odour of ottar of roses behind her.

Only then did the people speak.

"Donna Roma!"

The name seemed to pass over the crowd in a breathless whisper,

soundless, supernatural, like the flight of a bat in the dark.

III

The Baron Bonelli had invited certain of his friends to witness the

Pope's procession from the windows and balconies of his palace

overlooking the piazza, and they had begun to arrive as early as

half-past nine.

In the green courtyard they were received by the porter in the cocked

hat, on the dark stone staircase by lackeys in knee-breeches and yellow

stockings, in the outer hall, intended for coats and hats, by more

lackeys in powdered wigs, and in the first reception-room, gorgeously

decorated in the yellow and gold of the middle ages, by Felice, in a

dress coat, the Baron's solemn personal servant, who said, in sepulchral

tones: "The Baron's excuses, Excellency! Engaged in the Council-room with some

of the Ministers, but expects to be out presently. Sit in the Loggia,

Excellency?"

"So our host is holding a Cabinet Council, General?" said the English

Ambassador.

"A sort of scratch council, seemingly. Something that concerns the day's

doings, I guess, and is urgent and important."




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