ad, taking note of everything and
exercising a premature and gratuitous supervision.

David Rossi was tearing up the second of his manifestoes when this
person came to say that a lady in the outer office was asking to see
him.

"Show her into the private waiting-room," said Rossi.

"But may I suggest," said the man, "that considering who the lady is, it
would perhaps be better to see her elsewhere?"

"Show her into the private room, sir," said Rossi, and the man shrugged
his shoulders and disappeared.

As David Rossi opened the door of a small room at his right hand,
something rustled lightly in the corridor outside, and a moment
afterwards Roma glided into his arms. She was pale and nervous, and
after a moment she began to cry.

"Dear one," said Rossi, pressing her head against his breast, "what has
happened? Tell me! Something has frightened you. You look anxious."

"No wonder," she said, and then she told him of her summons to the
Palazzo Braschi, and of the business she saw done there.

There was to be a riot at the meeting at the Coliseum, because, if need
be, the Government itself would provoke violence. The object was to
kill _him_, not the people, and if he stayed in Rome until to-morrow
night there would be no possibility of escape.

"You must fly," she said. "You are the victim marked out by all these
preparations--you, you, nobody but you."

"It is the best news I've heard for days," he said. "If I am the only
one who runs a risk...."

"Risk! My dearest, don't you understand? Your life is aimed at, and you
must fly before it is quite impossible."

"It is already impossible," he answered.

He drew off one of her white gloves and kissed her finger-tips. "My dear
one," he said, "if there were nothing else to think of, do you suppose I
could go away and leave you behind me? That is just what somebody
expected me to do when he permitted you to witness his preparations. But
he was mistaken. I cannot and I will not leave you."

Her pale face was suddenly overspread by a burning blush, and she threw
both arms about his neck.

"Very well," she said, "I will go with you."

"Darling!" he cried, and he clasped her to his breast again. "But no!
That is impossible also. Our marriage cannot take place for ten days."

"No matter! I'll go without it."

"My dear child, you don't know what you are saying. You are too good,
too pure...."

"Hush! Our marriage is nothing to anybody but ourselves, and if we