, he came upon the King's carriage returning to the
Quirinal. It was entirely surrounded by soldiers, the military commander
of Rome on the right, the commander of the Carabineers on the left, and
the Cuirassiers, riding two deep, before and behind, so that the King
and Queen were scarcely visible to the cheering crowd. Last in the royal
procession came an ordinary cab containing two detectives in plain
clothes.

The office of the _Sunrise_ was in a narrow lane out of the Corso. It
was a dingy building of three floors, with the machine-rooms on the
ground-level, the composing-rooms at the top, and the editorial rooms
between. Rossi's office was a large apartment, with three desks, that
were intended for the editor and his day and night assistants.

His day assistant received him with many bows and compliments. He was a
small man with an insincere face.

Rossi drank a cup of coffee and settled to his work. It was an article
on the day's doings, more fearless and outspoken than he had ever
published before. Such a day as they had just gone through, with the
flying of flags and the playing of royal hymns, was not really a day of
joy and rejoicing, but of degradation and shame. If the people had known
what they were doing, they would have hung their flags with crape and
played funeral marches.

"Such a scene as we have witnessed to-day," he wrote, "like all such
scenes throughout the world, whether in Germany, Russia, and England, or
in China, Persia, and the darkest regions of Africa, is but proof of the
melancholy fact that while man, as the individual, has been nineteen
hundred years converted to Christianity, man, as the nation, remains to
this day for the most part utterly pagan."

The assistant editor, who had glanced over the pages of manuscript as
Rossi threw them aside, looked up at last and said:

"Are you sure, sir, that you wish to print this article?"

"Quite sure."

The man made a shrug of his shoulders, and took the copy upstairs.

The short day had closed in when Rossi was returning home. Screamers in
the streets were crying early editions of the evening papers, and the
cafes in the Corso were full of officers and civilians, sipping vermouth
and reading glowing accounts of the King's enthusiastic reception.
Pitiful! Most pitiful! And the man who dared to tell the truth must be
prepared for any consequences.

David Rossi told himself that he _was_ prepared. Henceforth he would
devote himself to th