"I don't promise anything," he said. "I shall probably be furious. But
in any case, if it is going to be a long story we may as well make
ourselves at home."

"Not here! I must tell you quickly, before he comes."

He noticed that she looked towards the door, and he understood that
she was listening fearfully for the creaking of the gate, the sound of
footsteps on the path outside, the turning of the key in the lock.

"Tor di Rocca, I suppose? When is he coming?"

"Between one and two."

"We have at least half an hour then," he said comfortably, and drew
her closer to him with his arm about her shoulders.

"When I first came to Rome I tried for weeks to get something to do,
but no one seemed to want lessons. Then one day Signora Aurelia's
sister told me how poor she was. She cried, and I was very much upset
because I felt I was a burden, and that very afternoon I found out a
way of making money ... Jean, you won't be angry?"

"No, dearest."

"I became a model--" She paused, but he said nothing and she went on.
"I sat for one man only after the first week, and he was always good
and kind to me, always. He painted a picture of me--I think you would
like it--and the day before yesterday he had a show of his work. A lot
of people came. I did not see Prince Tor di Rocca, but he was there,
and after a while he spoke to me. I had met him before and I
understood from what he said that Mamie Whittaker had broken her
engagement with him.

"The next morning M'sieur Camille had to go out, and I was alone in
the studio when the Prince came in and tried to make love to me. I was
frightened, and I screamed, and just then Camille returned, and he
knocked him down. He got up again at once. Nothing much was said, and
he went away, but I understood that they were going to fight. I went
home and thought about it, and when I realised that one or other of
them might be killed I felt I could not bear it.

"I am so afraid of death, Jean. I try to believe in a future life, but
that will be different, and I want the people I love in this one;
just human, looking tired sometimes and shabby, or happy and pleased
about things. I remember my mother had a blue hat that suited her, and
I can't think of it now without tears, because I long to see her
pinning it on before the glass and asking me if it is straight, and I
suppose I shall never see or hear that again, even if we do meet in
heaven. Death is so absolutely the end. If only people