ed the torn stocking under the sole of each foot, and
slipped on the shoes, which were by no means tight, and tied the lacing
fast.

"Thank you, Signorina," Regina said, much confused. "You are too good!"

She picked up her hat and put it on, but she was not clever with the
pin, for she was used to having Settimia do everything for her which she
had not learned to do for herself before she had come to Rome.

"I can never manage it without Settimia," she said, as if excusing
herself for her awkwardness, as she again submitted to Aurora's help.

"Settimia?" repeated the young girl, as she put the hat on and thrust a
long pin through it. "Who is Settimia?"

"Our--I mean my maid," Regina explained. "Thank you. You are too good!"

"It is an uncommon name," Aurora said, looking critically at the hat.
"But I think I have heard it before."

"She is a wonderful woman. She knows French. She knows everything!"

Aurora said nothing to this, but seemed to be trying to recall something
she had long forgotten. Regina was very busy in her turn, pulling down
the girl's frock all round, and brushing it with her hand as well as
she could, and picking off bits of dry grass and thistles that clung to
the grey woollen. Aurora thanked her.

"The way down is very easy now," Regina said. "A few steps farther on we
can see the road."

"After all, why should you not come with me till we find my mother?"
Aurora asked.

"No," Regina answered with quiet decision. "I am what I am. You must not
be seen with Regina. Do not tell your mother that you have been with me,
and I shall not tell Marcello--I mean, Signor Consalvi."

"Why not?"

"Neither of them would be pleased. Trust me. I know the world. Good-bye,
and the Madonna accompany you; and remember what I said when I took your
hand."

So they parted, and Regina stood up a long time, and watched the slender
grey figure descending to the road in the valley.

CHAPTER XIII

"Variety, my dear Marcello, variety! There is nothing like it. If I were
you, I would make some change, for your life must be growing monotonous,
and besides, though I have not the least intention of reading you a
lecture, you have really made your doings unnecessarily conspicuous of
late. The Paris chroniclers have talked about you enough for the
present. Don't you think so? Yes, finish the bottle. I always told you
that champagne was good for you."

Marcello filled his glass and sipped the wine before he