n started up his horses at the pace of
animals which are returning to their stable. He checked them that they
might not become overheated, and the fine cobs trembled impatiently in
their harnesses. Evidently the Countess and Alba were in the studio for a
long sitting. What had Boleslas learned that he did not already know? Was
he not ridiculous, standing upon the sidewalk of the square in the centre
of which rose the ruin of an antique reservoir, called, for a reason more
than doubtful, the trophy of Marius. With one glance the young man took
in this scene--the empty victoria turning in the opposite direction, the
large square, the ruin, the row of high houses, his cab. He appeared to
himself so absurd for being there to spy out that of which he was only
too sure, that he burst into a nervous laugh and reentered his cab,
giving his own address to the cabman: Palazzetto Doria, Place de Venise.
The cab that time started off leisurely, for the man comprehended that
the mad desire to arrive hastily no longer possessed his fare. By a
sudden metamorphosis, the swift Roman steed became a common nag, and the
vehicle a heavy machine which rumbled along the streets. Boleslas yielded
to depression, the inevitable reaction of an excess of violence such as
he had just experienced. His composure could not last. The studio, in
which was Madame Steno, began to take a clear form in the jealous lover's
mind in proportion as he drove farther from it. In his thoughts he saw
his former mistress walking about in the framework of tapestry, armor,
studies begun, as he had frequently seen her walking in his smoking-room,
with the smile upon her lips of an amorous woman, touching the objects
among which her lover lives. He saw impassive Alba, who served as
chaperon in the new intrigue of her mother's with the same naivete she
had formerly employed in shielding their liaison. He saw Maitland with
his indifferent glance of the day before, the glance of a preferred
lover, so sure of his triumph that he did not even feel jealous of the
former lover.

The absolute tranquillity of one who replaces us in an unfaithful
mistress's affections augments our fury still more if we have the
misfortune to be placed in a position similar to Gorka's. In a moment his
rival's evocation became to him impossible to bear. He was very near his
own home, for he was just at that admirable square encumbered with the
debris of basilica, the Forum of Trajan, which the statue