Ortensia
executed a ceremonious courtesy. 'And who is this lady?' the Queen asked
almost at once.

'My wife, Madam,' answered Stradella proudly. 'We are lately married.'

'Surely you are not a Roman, my dear child?' the Queen said inquiringly.

'No, Madam,' answered Ortensia, meeting the penetrating gaze of the
disagreeable eyes without any nervousness. 'I am a Venetian, and was
born a Grimani.'

The Queen smiled still more graciously at the ancient name, though she
was a little surprised that a Grimani should have married a singer.
Bernini and Guidi greeted Stradella while the Queen exchanged these few
words with his wife, and the three gentlemen also came forward and
pressed his hand, asking him questions about his journey, his marriage,
and his present lodgings.

'What?' cried young Paluzzo Altieri. 'Lodging at the Orso? At an inn? My
uncle will never allow that, nor her Majesty either!' He glanced at the
Queen, who was still talking with Ortensia. 'You are the Pope's guests
in Rome, Maestro, and I shall see that you are treated as such! Where
will you be pleased to lodge, my dear Stradella? The whole Altieri
palace is at your disposal, and you have but to choose your
apartments----'

'Surely,' interrupted the Queen, who was listening now, 'I have a prior
right to lodge a great artist in my house! Will you come and stay awhile
with me, my dear?' she asked, turning to Ortensia again, with a sudden
smile.

Ortensia was not at all overcome by the invitation, as the Queen perhaps
expected that she would be, and she answered with demure caution.

'Your Majesty is too kind,' she said, without committing herself.

'Very well, my dear Altieri,' the Queen went on at once, as if Ortensia
had already refused the proffered hospitality, 'I yield, but to His
Holiness only, not to you!'

She laughed that strangely hard ringing laugh of hers, that reminded
northern men of the sound of sharp skates cutting the smooth ice of a
frozen river, where leafless birches and frost-bound banks send the
notes echoing away between them till they are lost in the distance.

'The Pope owes your Majesty thanks,' the young courtier answered,
bending his head a little, though he could hardly take his eyes from
Ortensia.

Her Majesty Christina was out on one of her sight-seeing expeditions, in
which old Bernini felt himself highly honoured to play guide, though she
sometimes, as now, insisted on seeing sights which he would not
willingl