g at the panorama. Below, in the Piazza del
Popolo, they saw a red tram slipping along, which looked, at that
distance, like a toy.

A tilbury, driven by a woman, stopped near their carriage. The woman was
blond with green eyes, prominent cheek-bones, and a little fur cap. At
her feet lay an enormous dog with long flame-coloured hair.

"She must be a Russian," said Caesar.

"Yes. Do you like that type?"

"She has a lot of character. She looks like one of the women that would
order servants to be whipped."

The Russian was smiling vaguely. Laura told the coachman to drive on.
They made a few rounds in the avenues of the Pincio. The music was
beginning; a few carriages, and groups of soldiers and seminarians,
crowded around the bandstand; Laura didn't care for brass bands, they
were too noisy for her, and she gave the coachman orders to drive to the
Corso.

_MEETING MARCHMONT_

They passed in front of the Villa Medici, and when they got near the
Piazza, della Trinita de' Monti they met a man on horseback, who, on
seeing them, immediately approached the carriage. It was Archibald
Marchmont, who had just arrived in Rome.

"I thought you had forgotten us," said Laura.

"I forget you, Marchesa! Never."

"You say you came to Rome...."

"From Nice I had to return to London, because my father was seriously
ill with an attack of gout."

"He is well again?"

"Yes, thank you. You are coming back from a drive?"

"Yes."

"Don't you want to come and have tea with my wife and me?"

"Where?"

"At the Hotel Excelsior. We are staying there. Will you come?" "All
right."

Laura accepted, and they went to the Via Veneto with the Englishman
riding beside them.

They went into the hotel and passed through to the "hall" full of
people, Marchmont sent word to his wife by a servant, to come down.
Laura and Caesar seated themselves with the Englishman.

"This hotel is unbearable," exclaimed Marchmont; "there is nothing here
but Americans."

"Your wife, however, must like that," said Caesar.

"No. Susanna is more European every day, and she doesn't care for the
shrieking elegance of her compatriots. Besides, her father is here, and
that makes her feel less American."

"It is an odd form of filial enthusiasm," remarked Caesar.

"It doesn't shock me. I almost think it's the rule," replied Marchmont;
"at home I could see that my brothers and sisters hated one another
cordially, and that every member of the family