; and from all sides they were
assailed by the odor of fish and garlic. Giovanni opened a door and bade
them enter.

"Why did you run away from me last night, Giovanni?"

"I was afraid. When I returned for you, you were gone. But last night I
was a fugitive, in hiding. To-day I am free," with an exultant note.

"Free?" said Hillard, astonished.

"I shall explain. I have been to Paris. Come."

Seated by the window which overlooked the little canal was a young
woman. Her hands lay passively in her lap, and her head was lowered. The
pose was resignation. She did not stir as they entered.

"You have found her?" whispered Hillard, a great pity swelling his
heart. What, after all, were his own petty troubles in the face of this
tragedy?

"_Carissime?_" called the father, his voice thrilling with boundless
love.

At the sound she turned her head. Her face, thin and waxen, was still
beautiful, ethereally beautiful, but without life. She was, perhaps,
three and twenty.

"I have brought an old friend to see you," said Giovanni. "Do you
remember the Signore Hillard?"

"Oh, yes! I am glad." She stood up.

Hillard offered his hand awkwardly, and hers touched it with the chill
dampness of snow.

"We are going back to the Sabine Hills, Enrichetta and I." The old man
rubbed his hands joyously. "Eh, _carissime_?"

"Yes, father," with a smile which had neither gladness nor interest in
it.

"But dare you?" asked Hillard in an undertone.

"Yes. A great noble has interceded for me. The news of his success came
this early morning. I am free; I may walk with men again."

Merrihew leaned against the wall, uneasy and wishing himself anywhere
but here. Tender and generous, he hated the sight of pain. They were
talking in Italian, but intuitively he translated. What a devil of a
world it was!

Giovanni made his daughter sit down again, patted her cheeks, then
pushed his friends into another room, closing the door.

"I found her," he said in English, the chords in his throat standing
out. "And Mother of Christ, how I have suffered! She was dancing. She
had to sit at tables and drink with the men. That, or the Seine. When
she saw me she gave a great cry and fell. She has not been like herself,
but that will pass away in time. Now she sits in silence and broods. I
went to the Italian ambassador. He heard my story in full. He wrote
personally to the king. To-day I am free. I have had to walk from Milan,
almost. I had little m