sed more than words.

In a few days his pain had diminished, and it was evident that he
would be out in a fortnight or so. The kind attentions of his friends
affected him greatly. They all spent more time than ever in his room,
and never came there without bringing some little trifle, such as
grapes, oranges, or other fruit. The Senator hunted all over Rome for
a book, and found Victor Hugo's works, which he bought on a venture,
and had the gratification of seeing that it was acceptable.

All suspected something. The Doctor had contended from the first that
Dick had met with an accident. They had too much delicacy to question
him, but made many conjectures amongst themselves. The Doctor thought
that he had been among some ruins, and met with a fall. Mr. Figgs
suggested that he might have been run over. The Senator thought it was
some Italian epidemic. Buttons was incapable of thinking rationally
about any thing just then. He was the victim of a monomania: the
Spaniards!

About a week after Dick's adventure Buttons was strolling about on
his usual quest, when he was attracted by a large crowd around the
Chiesa di Gesu. The splendid equipages of the cardinals were crowded
about the principal entrance, and from the interior sounds of music
came floating magnificently down. Buttons went in to see what was
going on. A vast crowd filled the church. Priests in gorgeous
vestments officiated at the high altar, which was all ablaze with
the light of enormous wax-candles. The gloom of the interior was
heightened by the clouds of incense that rolled on high far within
the vaulted ceiling.

[Illustration: Poor Dick!]

The Pope was there. In one of the adjoining chambers he was performing
a ceremony which sometimes takes place in this church. Guided by
instinct, Buttons pressed his way into the chamber. A number of people
filled it. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation.

Just as His Holiness was rising to leave, Buttons saw the group that
had filled his thoughts for weeks.

The Spaniards! No mistake this time. And he had been right all along.
All his efforts had, after all, been based on something tangible. Not
in vain had he had so many walks, runnings, chasings, searchings,
strolls, so many hopes, fears, desires, discouragements. He was
right! Joy, rapture, bliss, ecstasy, delight! There they were: _the
little Don_--THE DONNA--IDA!

Buttons, lost for a while in the crowd, and pressed away, never lost
sight of the Spani