he time for anti-clericals. Gentlemen, don't all speak at once.
Every day is not a festa. How much? Nothing at all? Not even a soldo?
Too bad. Art is its own reward."

Still more laughter, followed by the shuffling of feet coming up the
iron stairs, and a familiar voice on the landing--it was the Princess
Bellini's--"Madonna mia! what a fright it is, to be sure!"

Then another voice--it was Madame Bella's--"I thought so the day of the
private view, when she behaved so shockingly to the dear Baron."

Then a third voice--it was the voice of Olga the journalist--"I said the
Baron would pay her out, and he has. Before the day is over she'll not
have a stick left or a roof to cover her."

Roma dropped her head on to the table. Try as she might to keep a brave
front, the waves of shame and humiliation were surging over her.

Some one touched her on the shoulder. It was Natalina with a telegram:
"Letter received; my apartment is paid for to end of June; why not take
possession of it?"

From that moment onward nothing else mattered. The tumultuous noises in
the drawing-room died down, and there was no sound but the voices of the
auctioneer and his clerk, which rumbled like a drum in the empty
chamber.

It was four o'clock. Opening the window, Roma heard the music of a band.
At that a spirit of defiance took possession of her, and she put on her
hat and cloak. As she passed through the empty drawing-room, the
auctioneer, who was counting his notes with the dry rustle of a
winnowing machine, looked up with his beady eyes and said:

"It has come out fairly well, Madame--better than we might have
expected."

On reaching the piazza she hailed a cab. "The Pincio!" she cried, and
settled in her seat. When she returned an hour afterwards she wrote her
usual letter to David Rossi.

"High doings to-day! Have had a business on my own account, and
done a roaring trade! Disposed of everything in the shop except
what I wanted for myself. It isn't every trades-woman who can say
that much, and I'm only a beginner to boot!

"Soberly, I've sold up. Being under notice to leave this
apartment, I didn't want all this useless furniture, so I thought
I might as well get done with it in good time. Besides, what right
had I to soft beds and fine linen while you were an exile,
sleeping Heaven knows where? And then my aunt, who is very ill and
wants all sorts of luxuries, is rather expensive. So for th