nnot tell you that."

"Well, the hour is fixed. It will not be changed?"

"No, the Prince preferred the early morning, but Michelin has an
appointment he must keep with Vandervelde at noon."

"Nothing will persuade him to alter it then?" she insisted.

"Nothing."

"That is well," she said sighing. "Good-bye, M'sieur Gontrand.
You--you will do your best for Camille."

"You may rely on me," he answered.

She went down the steps of Trinita del Monte, and across the Piazza di
Spagna to the English book-shop at the corner, where she bought a
_Roman Herald_. Three minutes study of the visitors' list sufficed to
inform her that the Prince was staying at the Hotel de Russie close
by. The afternoon was waning, and already the narrow streets of the
lower town were in shadow; soon the shops would be lit up and gay with
the gleam of marbles, the glimmer of Roman pearls and silks, and the
green, grotesque bronzes that strangers buy.

Olive walked down the Via Babuino past the ugly English church,
crossed the road, and entered the hall of the hotel in the wake of a
party of Americans. They went on towards the lift and left her
uncertain which way to turn, so she appealed to the gold-laced,
gigantic, and rather awful porter.

"Prince Tor di Rocca?"

He softened at her mention of the illustrious name.

"If you will go into the lounge there I will send to see if the Prince
is in. What name shall I say?"

"Miss Agar. I have no card with me."

She chose a window-seat near a writing-table at the far end of the
room, and there Filippo found her when he came in five minutes later.
He was prepared for anything but the smile in the blue eyes lifted to
his, and he paled as he took the hand she gave and raised it to his
lips.

"Ah," he said fervently, "if you were always kind."

"You would be good?"

"Yes."

"For a week, or a month? But you need not answer me. Filippo, I should
like some tea."

"Of course," he said eagerly. "Forgive me," and he hurried away to
order it.

When he returned his dark face was radiant. "Do you know that is the
second time you have called me by my name? You said Filippo this
morning. Ah, I heard you, and I have thought of it since."

The girl hardened her heart. She realised--she had always realised
that this man was dangerous. A fire consumed him. It was a fire that
blazed up to destroy, no pleasant light and warmth upon the hearth of
a good life, but women were apt to flutter, moth-like,