make its appearance, and Donna. Tullia looked about
for something upon which to open the conversation, glancing from time to
time at her neighbour. It was easy to see that the place and the
surroundings were equally unfamiliar to the newcomer, who looked with
evident interest at the twisted columns of the high altar, at the vast
mosaics in the dome, at the red damask hangings of the nave, at the
Swiss guards, the chamberlains in court dress and at all the
mediaeval-looking, motley figures that moved about within the space kept
open for the coming function.

"It is a wonderful sight," said Donna Tullia in Trench, very softly,
and almost as though speaking to herself.

"Wonderful indeed," answered Maria Consuelo, "especially to a stranger."

"Madame is a stranger, then," observed Donna Tullia with an agreeable
smile.

She looked into her neighbour's face and for the first time realised
that she was a striking person.

"Quite," replied the latter, briefly, and as though not wishing to press
the conversation.

"I fancied so," said Donna Tullia, "though on seeing you in these seats,
among us Romans--"

"I received a card through the kindness of a friend."

There was a short pause, during which Donna Tullia concluded that the
friend must have been Orsino. But the next remark threw her off the
scent.

"It was his wife's ticket, I believe," said Maria Consuelo. "She could
not come. I am here on false pretences." She smiled carelessly.

Donna Tullia lost herself in speculation, but failed to solve the
problem.

"You have chosen a most favourable moment for your first visit to Rome,"
she remarked at last.

"Yes. I am always fortunate. I believe I have seen everything worth
seeing ever since I was a little girl."

"She is somebody," thought Donna Tullia. "Probably the wife of a
diplomatist, though. Those people see everything, and talk of nothing
but what they have seen."

"This is historic," she said aloud. "You will have a chance of
contemplating the Romans in their glory. Colonna and Orsini marching
side by side, and old Saracinesca in all his magnificence. He is
eighty-two year old."

"Saracinesca?" repeated Maria Consuelo, turning her tawny eyes upon her
neighbour.

"Yes. The father of Sant' Ilario--grandfather of that young fellow who
showed you to your seat."

"Don Orsino? Yes, I know him slightly."

Corona, sitting immediately behind them heard her son's name. As the two
ladies turned towards eac