nd lingered there with some tenderness
for Alpine piety. While he was near the high-altar some people came in
at the west door; but he did not notice them, and was presently engaged
in deciphering a curious old German epitaph on one of the mural tablets.
At last he turned away, wondering whether its syntax or its theology was
the more uncomfortable, and, to this infinite surprise, found himself
confronted with the Prince and Princess Casamassima.

The surprise on Christina's part, for an instant, was equal, and at
first she seemed disposed to turn away without letting it give place to
a greeting. The prince, however, saluted gravely, and then Christina, in
silence, put out her hand. Rowland immediately asked whether they were
staying at Engelberg, but Christina only looked at him without speaking.
The prince answered his questions, and related that they had been
making a month's tour in Switzerland, that at Lucerne his wife had been
somewhat obstinately indisposed, and that the physician had recommended
a week's trial of the tonic air and goat's milk of Engelberg. The
scenery, said the prince, was stupendous, but the life was terribly
sad--and they had three days more! It was a blessing, he urbanely added,
to see a good Roman face.

Christina's attitude, her solemn silence and her penetrating gaze
seemed to Rowland, at first, to savor of affectation; but he presently
perceived that she was profoundly agitated, and that she was afraid of
betraying herself. "Do let us leave this hideous edifice," she said;
"there are things here that set one's teeth on edge." They moved slowly
to the door, and when they stood outside, in the sunny coolness of the
valley, she turned to Rowland and said, "I am extremely glad to see
you." Then she glanced about her and observed, against the wall of the
church, an old stone seat. She looked at Prince Casamassima a moment,
and he smiled more intensely, Rowland thought, than the occasion
demanded. "I wish to sit here," she said, "and speak to Mr.
Mallet--alone."

"At your pleasure, dear friend," said the prince.

The tone of each was measured, to Rowland's ear; but that of Christina
was dry, and that of her husband was splendidly urbane. Rowland
remembered that the Cavaliere Giacosa had told him that Mrs. Light's
candidate was thoroughly a prince, and our friend wondered how he
relished a peremptory accent. Casamassima was an Italian of the
undemonstrative type, but Rowland nevertheless div