me distance ahead
of me, a young man and a girl. It was she, and I had only to hasten my
steps to overtake and see her. I could guess that the man with her was a
Frenchman. The cut of his clothes and the jaunty swagger of his bearing
were distinctively Gallic. My imagination could read the title "fortune
hunter" as though it were embroidered on his coat-tails.

I was resentful, and hurried on, but as usual I was destined to
disappointment. An untimely and inconsequential acquaintance loomed up
in my path, and when I attempted to brush hastily by him, he slapped me
on the back and hailed me with that most irritating of all conceivable
forms of address, "Well, how is the boy to-night?"

He did not find the "boy" particularly affable that night, but with an
accursed and persistent geniality he succeeded in delaying me for the
space of a few precious moments. At a distance, I saw her disappear into
a lighted doorway against which her face and figure showed only in
silhouette. Again I had lost her. I could hardly pursue her into the
entrances of private houses, but I noted the location and went back to
my apartments in the Hotel Hermitage with the comforting thought that we
were in the same town and that by rising early the next morning, and
searching tirelessly till midnight, I should ultimately be able to see
her.

Before sleep came to me a telegram was brought to my door.

Aunt Sarah had succeeded in becoming involved in some ludicrous
difficulty with the Italian customs officials. She implored that I come
at once to her rescue. How she had achieved it, was a matter of
inscrutable mystery. I had always found the politeness of Italian
customs officers as gracious as a benediction, but Aunt Sarah was a
resourceful person. I rejoined her detestable cortege long enough to
extricate her from her newest difficulty, and to discuss with her her
plans for the immediate future. I found that she and her young ladies
were yearning for the sepia tinted walls of Rome where, under every
broken column and crumbling arch their hungry souls might drink deep
draughts of improving tradition and culture. I knew that they would
waste no time musing by moonlight in the shadows of the Colosseum, but
that with Latin dictionaries they would decipher in the broad light of
day the inscriptions on the arcs of Titus and Constantine. None the
less, I encouraged their idea and enlarged upon the suitability of this
time. I looked up the train schedul