have cousins in Milan, but I have lost their
address, and they would not be able to help me. I have burnt my boats.
I used to give lessons, but it was not easy to find pupils, and then I
met Rosina. I cannot go back to being a governess after being a model.
I have done no wrong, but no one would have me if they knew. You see
one has to go on--"

"Have you known Tor di Rocca long? He was here last winter. He has a
villa somewhere outside Rome. I think it belonged to his mother. She
was an Orsini."

"You are not going to fight him?"

Outside, in the ilex wood, birds were calling to one another. The sun
gilded the green of the gnarled old trees; it had rained in the night,
and the garden was sweet with the scent of moist earth. The young man
sighed. He had meant to take his "little brother" into the Campagna
this April day to see the spring pageant of the skies, to hear the
singing of larks high up at heaven's gate, the tinkling of sheep
bells, the gurgling of water springs half hidden in the green lush
grass that grows in the shadow of the ruined Claudian aqueducts.

"Camille, answer me."

He got up and went back to his easel. "You must run away now," he
said. "I can't work this morning. I think I shall go to Naples for a
few days, but I will let you know when I return. We must get on with
the 'Rosamund.'"

She went obediently to put on her hat, but the face she saw reflected
in the little hanging mirror was pale and troubled. He came with her
to the door, and when she gave him her hand he bent to kiss it. Her
eyes filled again with tears. He will be killed, she thought, and for
me.

"Don't fight! For my sake, don't. I shall begin to think that I am a
creature of ill-omen. They say some women are like that; they have the
_mal occhio_; they give sorrow--"

"That is absurd," he said roughly, and then, in a changed voice,
"Good-bye, child."

CHAPTER VII

Olive walked home to Ripetta. She felt tired and shaken, and unhappily
conscious of some effort that must be made presently.

"He will be killed--and for me." "For me." "For me." She heard that
echo of her thought through all the clamour of the streets, the shrill
cries, the clatter of hoofs, the rattling of wheels over the cobble
stones. She heard it as she climbed the stairs to her room. When she
had taken off her hat and coat she poured some eau-de-cologne with
water into a cup and drank it--not this time to Italy or the joy of
life. She lay down o