his mood was changed, and there was no breaking out of the other man
in him, though he felt again the quick sharp throb in the temples, and
the rising blood at his throat. The higher self was dominant once more,
and the features was as still as a statue's.

He took leave of her very quickly and went out into the damp street and
faced the gusty southeast wind.

When he was gone, she rose and went to the window with a listless step,
and gazed idly through the glass at the long row of windows in the
palace opposite, and then went back and sank down, as though very weary,
upon a sofa far from the light. There was a dazed, wondering look in her
face and she sat very still for a long time, till it began to grow dark.
In the dusk she rose and went to the piano and sang softly to herself.
Her voice never swelled to a full note, and the chords which her fingers
sought were low and gentle and dreamy.

While she was singing, the door opened noiselessly, and Reanda came in
and stood beside her. She broke off and looked up, a little startled.
The same wondering, half-dazed look was in her face. Her husband bent
down and kissed her, and she kissed him silently.

CHAPTER XXVI.

DONNA FRANCESCA had put off her mourning, and went into the world again
during that winter. The world said that she might marry if she so
pleased, and was somewhat inclined to wonder that she did not. She could
have made a brilliant match if she had chosen. But instead, though she
appeared everywhere where society was congregated together, she showed a
tendency to religion which surprised her friends.

A tendency to religion existed in the Braccio family, together with
various other tendencies not at all in harmony with it, nor otherwise
edifying. Those other tendencies seemed to be absent in Francesca, and
little by little her acquaintances began to speak of her as a devout
person. The Prince of Gerano even hinted that she might some day be an
abbess in the Carmelite Convent at Subiaco, as many a lady of the great
house had been before her. But Francesca was not prepared to withdraw
from the world altogether, though at the present time she was very
unhappy.

She suspected herself of a great sin, besides reproaching herself
bitterly with many of her deeds which deserved no blame at all. Yet she
was by no means morbid, nor naturally inclined to perpetual
self-examination. On the contrary, she had always been willing to accept
life as a simple aff