"And now what am I offered for this large and important work of modern

art?"

There was a ripple of derisive laughter.

"A fountain worthy, when finished, to rank with the masterpieces of

ancient Rome."

More derisive laughter.

"Now is the time for anti-clericals. Gentlemen, don't all speak at once.

Every day is not a festa. How much? Nothing at all? Not even a soldo?

Too bad. Art is its own reward."

Still more laughter, followed by the shuffling of feet coming up the

iron stairs, and a familiar voice on the landing--it was the Princess

Bellini's--"Madonna mia! what a fright it is, to be sure!"

Then another voice--it was Madame Bella's--"I thought so the day of the

private view, when she behaved so shockingly to the dear Baron."

Then a third voice--it was the voice of Olga the journalist--"I said the

Baron would pay her out, and he has. Before the day is over she'll not

have a stick left or a roof to cover her."

Roma dropped her head on to the table. Try as she might to keep a brave

front, the waves of shame and humiliation were surging over her.

Some one touched her on the shoulder. It was Natalina with a telegram:

"Letter received; my apartment is paid for to end of June; why not take

possession of it?"

From that moment onward nothing else mattered. The tumultuous noises in

the drawing-room died down, and there was no sound but the voices of the

auctioneer and his clerk, which rumbled like a drum in the empty

chamber.

It was four o'clock. Opening the window, Roma heard the music of a band.

At that a spirit of defiance took possession of her, and she put on her

hat and cloak. As she passed through the empty drawing-room, the

auctioneer, who was counting his notes with the dry rustle of a

winnowing machine, looked up with his beady eyes and said:

"It has come out fairly well, Madame--better than we might have

expected."

On reaching the piazza she hailed a cab. "The Pincio!" she cried, and

settled in her seat. When she returned an hour afterwards she wrote her

usual letter to David Rossi.

"High doings to-day! Have had a business on my own account, and

done a roaring trade! Disposed of everything in the shop except

what I wanted for myself. It isn't every trades-woman who can say

that much, and I'm only a beginner to boot!

"Soberly, I've sold up. Being under notice to leave this

apartment, I didn't want all this useless furniture, so I thought

I might as well get done with it in good time. Besides, what right

had I to soft beds and fine linen while you were an exile,

sleeping Heaven knows where? And then my aunt, who is very ill and

wants all sorts of luxuries, is rather expensive. So for the past

week my drawing-room has been as full of fluting as a frog-pond at

sunset, and on Sunday morning people were banging away at my poor

piano as if it had been a hurdy-gurdy at an osteria.




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