und impression which this discovery made upon
Raphael. He was raised to the seventh heaven, as on that memorable night
at Siena, and while he gazed at the statue a mysterious voice, clear but
freighted with intense emotion, chanted the _Hymn to Apollo_ to which we
had listened at Chigi's villa.

At first we could not tell from whence it came but looked about in
startled surprise. Presently, however, a branch of laurel fell through
the opening in the roof, the song ended in a peal of laughter, and we
knew that some one was looking down upon us from the old Roman garden.
No one but Imperia could sing like that, and when Raphael exclaimed. "It
is the same song, the same singer that we heard at Cetinale." I cried
out. "The same, the same. She is celebrating the discovery of Apollo."

"She promised to come to me when I had found Apollo," he said, and
bounded up the rude stairway. Even then I did not realise that though
Raphael had recognised the voice he still supposed that it was Maria
Dovizio who had sung on that evening, and that it was she whom he now
believed he was about to meet.

There was no one in the ruined villa. A goatherd at a little distance,
of whom I inquired, pointed to the shore, and we saw some
pleasure-seekers embarking in a small sailboat.

"It is Chigi's yacht," said Raphael, "that is his pennon which flaps
from the mast, and Chigi himself is standing at the stern waving his cap
to us. There is a lady with him. He is steadying her with his arm. Your
eyes are better than mine, is it she?"

"It is indeed," I replied, "I would know her anywhere. His arm is around
her waist and she is clinging to him as of old. The unsteadiness of the
vessel is but an excuse. Many times at Cetinale have I seen them
standing thus. What else could you expect of such a woman? He is the
richest man in Italy."

IV

AN ORGY AT CHIGI'S VILLA

And Chigi made a joyous feast; I never
Sat at a costlier; for all round his hall
From column on to column, as in a wood,
Great garlands swung and blossomed, and beneath
Heirlooms and ancient miracles of Art
Chalice and salver, wines that Heaven knows when
Had sucked the fire of some forgotten sun
And kept it through a hundred years of gloom,
Yet glowing in a heart of ruby, cups
Where nymph and god ran ever round in gold,
Others with glass as costly, some with gems
Movable and resetable at will,
And trebling all the rest in value.
Ah!