has not seen
that first love-light kindle in a limpid eye has never touched the
highest point of human bliss. No future moment can ever approach that
one.

The conversation around them grew more animated, and Elena asked
him--'Are you staying the winter in Rome?'

'The whole winter--and longer,' was Andrea's reply, to whom the simple
question seemed to open up a promise.

'Ah, then you have set up a home here?'

'Yes, in the Casa Zuccari--_domus aurea_.'

'At the Trinita de' Monti?--Lucky being!'

'Why lucky?'

'Because you live on a spot I have a great liking for.'

'You are quite right I always think--don't you?--that there the most
perfect essence of Rome is concentrated as in a cup.'

'Quite true! I have hung up my heart--both Catholic and Pagan--as an
_ex-voto_ between the obelisk of the Trinita and the column of the
Conception.'

She laughed as she spoke. A sonnet to this suspended heart rose
instantly to his lips, but he did not give it utterance, for he was in
no mood to continue their conversation in this light vein of false
sentiment, which broke the sweet spell she had been weaving about him.
He was silent therefore.

She, too, remained a moment pensive, and then threw herself with renewed
vivacity into the general conversation, prodigal of wit and laughter,
flashing her teeth and her _bon mots_ at all in turn. Francesca was
retailing spicily a piece of gossip about the Princess di Ferentino on
the subject of a recent, and somewhat risky, adventure of hers with
Giovanella Daddi.

'By the by--the Ferentino announces another charity bazaar for
Epiphany,' said the Baroness d'Isola. 'Does anybody know anything about
it yet?'

'I am one of the patronesses,' said Elena Muti.

'And you are a most valuable patroness,' broke in Don Filippo del Monte,
a man of about forty, almost bald, a keen sharpener of epigrams, whose
face seemed a sort of Socratic mask; the right eye was forever on the
move, and flashed with a thousand changing expressions, while the left
remained stationary and glazed behind the single eye-glass, as if he
used the one for expressing himself and the other for seeing. 'At the
May bazaar, you brought in a perfect shower of gold.'

'Oh, the May bazaar--what a mad affair that was!' exclaimed the
Marchesa.

While the servants were filling the glasses with iced champagne, she
added, 'Do you remember, Elena, our stalls were close together?'

'Five louis d'or a drink--five louis d'