"Caffé, sir? Caffé?" he called, and then in an undertone, "Don't you

know me, old fellow? Caffé, sir? Thank you."

It was one of Rossi's colleagues in the House of Deputies.

"Milk, sir? With pleasure, sir. Venti centesimi, sir.... All right, old

chap. Keep your eyes open at the station at Rome.... Change, sir?

Certainly sir.... Coupé, waiting on the left side. Look alive. Addio!...

Caffé! Caffé!"

The lusty voice died away down the platform, and the train started

again. Rossi felt giddy. He staggered back to his seat and tried to read

his evening papers.

The Sunrise, the paper founded by Rossi himself, seemed to be full of

the Prime Minister. He had that day put the crown on a career of the

highest distinction; the King had conferred the Collar of the Annunziata

upon him; and in view of the continued rumblings of unrest it was even

probable that he would be made Dictator.

The Avanti seemed to Rossi to be full of himself. When the country

recovered from the delirium of that day's ridiculous doings, it would

know how to judge of the infamous methods of a Minister who had

condescended to use the devices of a Delilah for the defeat and

confusion of a political adversary.

Rossi felt as if he were suffocating. He put a hand into a side-pocket,

for his copy of the warrant crinkled there under his twitching fingers.

If he could only meet with Roma for a moment and thrust the damning

document in her face!

When the train ran along the side of the Tiber, they could see a great

framework of fireworks which had been erected on the Pincio. It

represented a gigantic crown and was all ablaze. At length the train

slowed down and entered the terminus at Rome. Rossi remembered how he

had expected to enter it, and he choked with wounded pride.

There were the thumpings and clankings and the blinding flashes of white

light, and then the train stopped. The station was full of people. Rossi

noticed Malatesta among them, the man whose life he had spared in the

duel he had been compelled to fight.

"Now, then, please!" said the marshal of Carabineers, and Rossi stepped

down to the platform. A soldier marched on either side of him; the

marshal walked in front. The people parted to let the four men pass, and

then closed up and came after them. Not a word was spoken.

With pale lips and a fixed gaze which seemed to look at nobody, Rossi

walked to the end of the platform, and there the crush was greatest.




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