he day after--name the time."

"When to-morrow is possible, there is no choice," said Gouache, "unless
you will come again to-day."

"To-morrow, then, good-bye." She held out her hand.

"There are sketches on each of my fingers, Madame--principally, of
tigers."

"Good-bye then--consider your hand shaken. Are you going, Prince?"

Orsino had taken his hat and was standing beside her.

"You will allow me to put you into your carriage."

"I shall walk."

"So much the better. Good-bye, Monsieur Gouache."

"Why say, Monsieur?"

"As you like--you are older than I."

"I? Who has told you that legend? It is only a myth. When you are sixty
years old, I shall still be five-and-twenty."

"And I?" enquired Madame d'Aragona, who was still young enough to laugh
at age.

"As old as you were yesterday, not a day older."

"Why not say to-day?"

"Because to-day has a to-morrow--yesterday has none."

"You are delicious, my dear Gouache. Good-bye."

Madame d'Aragona went out with Orsino, and they descended the broad
staircase together. Orsino was not sure whether he might not be showing
too much anxiety to remain in the company of his new acquaintance, and
as he realised how unpleasant it would be to sacrifice the walk with
her, he endeavoured to excuse to himself his derogation from his
self-imposed character of cool superiority and indifference. She was
very amusing, he said to himself, and he had nothing in the world to do.
He never had anything to do, since his education had been completed. Why
should he not walk with Madame d'Aragona and talk to her? It would be
better than hanging about the club or reading a novel at home. The
hounds did not meet on that day, or he would not have been at Gouache's
at all. But they were to meet to-morrow, and he would therefore not see
Madame d'Aragona.

"Gouache is an old friend of yours, I suppose," observed the lady.

"He was a friend of my father's. He is almost a Roman. He married a
distant connection of mine, Donna Faustina Montevarchi."

"Ah yes--I have heard. He is a man of immense genius."

"He is a man I envy with all my heart," said Orsino.

"You envy Gouache? I should not have thought--"

"No? Ah, Madame, to me a man who has a career, a profession, an
interest, is a god."

"I like that," answered Madame d'Aragona. "But it seems to me you have
your choice. You have the world before you. Write your name upon it. You
do not lack enthusiasm. Is it the inspiration