at a distance.

It was true! He stopped at the parapet before the church, and looked up
at her windows. There was a light in one of them, and his eyes seemed to
be steadfastly fixed on it. Then he turned to go down the steps. He went
down slowly, sometimes stopping and looking up, then going on again.
Once more she tried to call to him. "Mr. Rossi." But her voice seemed to
die in her throat. After a moment he was gone, the houses had hidden
him, and the church clock was striking twelve.

When she returned to her bedroom and looked at herself in the glass, her
face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling. She did not want to sleep
at all that night, for the beating of her heart was like music, and the
moon and stars were singing a song.

"If I could only be quite, quite sure!" she thought, and next morning
she tackled Bruno.

Bruno was no match for her now, but he put down his shaggy head, like a
bull facing a stone fence.

"Tell you the honest truth, Donna Roma," he said, "Mr. Rossi is one of
those who think that when a man has taken up a work for the world it is
best if he has no ties of family."

"Really? Is that so?" she answered. "But I don't understand. He can't
help having father and mother, can he?"

"He can help having a wife, though," said Bruno, "and Mr. Rossi thinks a
public man should be like a priest, giving up home and love and so
forth, that others may have them more abundantly."

"So for that reason...."

"For that reason he doesn't throw himself in the way of temptation."

"And you think that's why...."

"I think that's why he keeps out of the way of women."

"Perhaps he doesn't care for them--some men don't, you know."

"Care for them! Mr. Rossi is one of the men who think pearls and
diamonds of women, and if he had to be cast on a desert island with
anybody, he would rather have one woman than a hundred thousand men."

"Ah, yes, but perhaps there's no 'one woman' in the world for him yet,
Bruno."

"Perhaps there is, perhaps there isn't," said Bruno, and his hammer fell
on the chisel and the white sparks began to fly.

"_You_ would soon see if there were, wouldn't you, Bruno?"

"Perhaps I would, perhaps I wouldn't," said Bruno, and then he wagged
his wise head and growled, "In the battle of love he wins who flies."

"Does _he_ say that, Bruno?"

"He does. One day our old woman was trying to lead him on a bit. 'A
heart to share your joys and sorrows is something in this world,' s