The flowers lay supine,
their faces beaten into the mud; the greensward was littered with fallen
leaves and twigs--and even in one or two places whole branches had been
broken from the trees; on the ground about each rose-bush a snow of pink
rose-petals lay scattered; in the paths there were hundreds of little
pools, shining in the sun like pools of fire.

"There's nothing a gardener can't set right," said Peter, feeling no
doubt that here was a trifling tax upon the delights the storm had
procured him.

"And oh, our poor, poor hats!" said the Duchessa, eyeing ruefully those
damaged pieces of finery. "I fear no gardener can ever set them right."

"It sounds inhospitable," said Peter, "but I suppose I had better go and
build your bridge."

So he threw a ladder athwart the river, and laid the planks in place, as
he had seen Gigi do the day before.

"How ingenious--and, like all great things, how simple," laughed the
Duchessa.

Peter waved his hand, as who should modestly deprecate applause. But, I
'm ashamed to own, he didn't disclaim the credit of the invention.

"It will require some nerve," she reflected, looking at the narrow
planks, the foaming green water. "However--"

And gathering in her skirts, she set bravely forward, and made the
transit without mishap. The priest and Emilia, gathering in their
skirts, made it after her.

She paused on the other side, and looked back, smiling.

"Since you have discovered so efficacious a means of cutting short the
distance between our places of abode," she said, "I hope you will not
fail to profit by it whenever you may have occasion--on Thursday, for
example."

"Thank you very much," said Peter.

"Of course," she went on, "we may all die of our wetting yet. It would
perhaps show a neighbourly interest if you were to come up to-morrow,
and take our news. Come at four o'clock; and if we're alive... you shall
have another pinch of snuff," she promised, laughing.

"I adore you," said Peter, under his breath. "I'll come with great
pleasure," he said aloud.

"Marietta," he observed, that evening, as he dined, "I would have you
to know that the Aco is bridged. Hence, there is one symbol the fewer
in Lombardy. But why does--you mustn't mind the Ollendorfian form of my
enquiry--why does the chaplain of the Duchessa wear red stockings?"

"The chaplain of the Duchessa--?" repeated Marietta, wrinkling up her
brow.

"Ang--of the Duchessa di Santangiolo. He wore red s