o long
as he's talked about. I never saw such lion-hunters in my life. Only
last August it was the Gadfly; now it's Montanelli. I hope His Eminence
feels flattered at the attention; a precious lot of adventurers have
shared it with him."

They had been hearing Montanelli preach in the Cathedral; and the great
building had been so thronged with eager listeners that Martini, fearing
a return of Gemma's troublesome headaches, had persuaded her to come
away before the Mass was over. The sunny morning, the first after a week
of rain, offered him an excuse for suggesting a walk among the garden
slopes by San Niccolo.

"No," she answered; "I should like a walk if you have time; but not to
the hills. Let us keep along the Lung'Arno; Montanelli will pass on
his way back from church and I am like Grassini--I want to see the
notability."

"But you have just seen him."

"Not close. There was such a crush in the Cathedral, and his back was
turned to us when the carriage passed. If we keep near to the bridge
we shall be sure to see him well--he is staying on the Lung'Arno, you
know."

"But what has given you such a sudden fancy to see Montanelli? You never
used to care about famous preachers."

"It is not famous preachers; it is the man himself; I want to see how
much he has changed since I saw him last."

"When was that?"

"Two days after Arthur's death."

Martini glanced at her anxiously. They had come out on to the Lung'Arno,
and she was staring absently across the water, with a look on her face
that he hated to see.

"Gemma, dear," he said after a moment; "are you going to let that
miserable business haunt you all your life? We have all made mistakes
when we were seventeen."

"We have not all killed our dearest friend when we were seventeen," she
answered wearily; and, leaning her arm on the stone balustrade of the
bridge, looked down into the river. Martini held his tongue; he was
almost afraid to speak to her when this mood was on her.

"I never look down at water without remembering," she said, slowly
raising her eyes to his; then with a nervous little shiver: "Let us walk
on a bit, Cesare; it is chilly for standing."

They crossed the bridge in silence and walked on along the river-side.
After a few minutes she spoke again.

"What a beautiful voice that man has! There is something about it that I
have never heard in any other human voice. I believe it is the secret of
half his influence."

"It is a wonde