it. She was trembling all over.

A moment afterwards there was a knock at the door. Then another knock,
and another. It was imperative, irregular knocking.

Roma, who had forgotten all about the Baron, was rooted to the spot on
which she stood. The Baron, who had understood everything, was also
transfixed.

Then came a thick, vibrating voice, "Roma!"

Roma made a faint cry, and dropped the revolver out of her graspless
hand. The Baron picked it up instantly. He was the first to recover
himself.

"Hush!" he said in a whisper. "Let him come in. I will go into this
room. I mean no harm to any one; but if he should follow me--if you
should reveal my presence--remember what I said before about a
challenge. And if I challenge him his shrift will have to be swift and
sure."

The Baron stepped into the bedroom. Then the voice came again, "Roma!
Roma!"

Roma staggered to the door and opened it.

VI

Flying from the railway station in the coupe, down the Via Nazionale and
the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, Rossi had seen by the electric light the
remains of the day's festoons, triumphal arches, banners, embroideries,
emblems, and flowers. These things had passed before his eyes like a
flash, yet they had deepened the bitterness of his desire to meet with
Roma that he might thrust the evidence of her treachery into her face.

But when he came to his own house and Roma opened the door to him, and
he saw her, looking so ill, her cheeks so pale, her beautiful eyes so
large and timid, and her whole face expressing such acute suffering, his
anger began to ebb away, and he wanted to take her into his arms in
spite of all.

Roma knew she was opening the door to Rossi, whatever the strange chance
which had brought him there, and when she saw him she made a faint cry
and a helpless little run toward him, and then stopped and looked
frightened. The momentary sensation of joy and relief had instantly died
away. She looked at his world-worn face, so disfigured by pain and
humiliation, and the arms she had outstretched to meet him she raised
above her head as if to ward off a blow.

He saw under the veil she wore the terror which had seized her at sight
of him, and by that alone he knew the depths of the abyss between them.
But this only increased the measureless pity he felt for her. And he
could not look at her without feeling that whatever she had done he
loved her, and must continue to love her