A two-horse victoria with rubber tires was waiting at the door, and
Laura and Caesar got in. The carriage went past the Treasury, and out
the Porta Salaria, and entered the gardens of the Villa Borghese.

The morning had been rainy; the ground was damp; the wind waved the
tree-tops gently and caused a murmur like the tide. The carriage rolled
slowly along the avenues. Laura was very gay and chatty. Caesar listened
to her as one listens to a bird warbling.

Many times while listening he thought: "What is there inside this head?
What is the master idea of her life? Has she really any idea about life,
or has she none?"

After several rounds they crossed the viaduct that unites the Villa
Borghese with the Pincio gardens.

_FROM THE PINCIO TERRACE_

They approached the great terrace of the gardens by an avenue that has
busts of celebrated men along both sides.

"Poor great men!" exclaimed Caesar. "Their statues serve only to
decorate a public garden." "They had their lives," replied Laura, gaily;
"now we have ours."

Laura ordered the coachman to stop a moment. The air was still murmuring
in the foliage, the birds singing, and the clouds flying slowly across
the sky.

A man with a black box approached the carriage to offer them postcards.

"Buy two or three," said Laura.

Caesar bought a few and put them into his pocket. The vendor withdrew
and Laura continued to look at Rome with enthusiasm.

"Oh, how beautiful, how lovely it is! I never get tired of looking at
it. It is my favourite city. '_O fior d'ogni citta, donna del mondo_.'"

"She is no longer mistress of the world, little sister."

"For me she is. Look at St. Peter's. It looks like a shred of cloud."

"Yes, that's so. It's of a blue shade that seems transparent."

Bells were ringing and great majestic white clouds kept moving along the
horizon; on the Janiculum the statue of Garibaldi rose up gallantly into
the air, like a bird ready to take wing.

"When I look at Rome this way," murmured Laura, "I feel a pang, a pang
of grief."

"Why?"

"Because I remember that I must die, and then I shall not come back
to see Rome. She will be here still, century after century, full of
sunlight, and I shall be dead.... It is horrible, horrible!"

"And your religion?"

"Yes, I know. I believe I shall see other things; but not these things
that are so beautiful."

"You are an Epicurean."

"It is so beautiful to be alive!"

They stayed there lookin