pen field under which the
Roman Forum then lay buried. By the first faint light she recognised the
tower of the Capitol, and in less than a quarter of an hour after that
she found Cucurullo sitting on one of the stone chain-posts outside the
Palazzo Altieri, his two long legs hanging down almost to the pavement,
and his humped body looking like a large ball covered with a short brown
cloak, and surmounted by a servant's high-crowned black felt hat with a
wide brim. He was not asleep, for he hardly ever slept, and he knew his
mistress's light step before he saw her at his elbow. In a moment he had
explained what had happened, as far as he knew the truth, from the
moment when he had left her getting into the carriage with Gambardella.

Her mind was made up in a flash; she would go directly to the Pope
himself, and if he would not see her, she would insist on seeing
Cardinal Paluzzo Altieri. He would not refuse her an audience, if she
sent up her name with a message to say that she had found something of
great value that belonged to him. As for taking any rest before going to
the Quirinal, she literally had not where to lay her head; but she was
young and strong, and would not realise how tired she was till the
strain of her anxiety was over, and she was borne up by love, which is
quite the most wonderful elixir in the world against all weariness of
mind or body. Nevertheless she leaned on Cucurullo's arm as they
climbed the ascent, for it was very steep, and the last part of it was
the long flight of steps which still leads up from the Tre Cannelle and
comes out close to the little church of San Silvestro, where the great
and good Vittoria Colonna once met Michelangelo.

The doors of the Quirinal Palace were opened at sunrise, and two
sentries of the Swiss Guard paced up and down before the entrance, their
breastplates and halberds gleaming in the morning sun. They did not stop
Ortensia, who saw their sergeant standing just within, very magnificent
in his full-dress uniform; for it was the Feast of Saint John, and
Midsummer Day, and one of the great festivals of the year, though not so
solemn a one as that of Saint Peter which comes five days later, on the
twenty-ninth.

The Swiss sergeant was gravely civil and answered Ortensia as politely
as he could, considering how imperfectly he knew the Italian language.
His Holiness? No. The Pope was far from well and had not left his room
for a week. His Eminence? It might be po