ns, the contrition, the prayers, the penances of four months
had been wiped out, made utterly unavailing in one second of time, and
she sank down more weary and vanquished than ever, without the will or
the power to fight against the foes that beset her in her own heart,
against the feelings that were upheaving her whole moral foundations.
And while she gave way to the anguish and despair of a conscience which
feels all its courage oozing from it, she still had the feeling that
something of _him_ lingered in the shadows of the room and enveloped her
with all the sweetness of a passionate caress.

CHAPTER II

The next day, she arrived at the Palazzo dei Sabini, her heart beating
fast under a bunch of violets.

Andrea was looking out for her at the door of the concert-hall.

'Thanks,' he said, and pressed her hand.

He conducted her to a seat and sat down beside her.

'I thought the anxiety of waiting for you would have killed me,' he
murmured. 'I was so afraid you would not come. How grateful I am to you!
Late last night,' he went on, 'I passed your house. There was a light in
one window--the third looking towards the Quirinal--I would have given
much to know if you were up there. Who gave you those violets?' he asked
abruptly.

'Delfina,' she answered.

'Did Delfina tell you of our meeting this morning in the Piazza di
Spagna?'

'Yes--all.'

The concert began with a Quartett by Mendelssohn. The hall was already
nearly full, the audience consisting, for the most part, of foreign
ladies--fair-haired women very quietly and simply dressed, grave of
attitude, religiously silent, as in some sacred spot. The wave of music
passing over these motionless heads spread out into the golden light, a
light that filtered from above through faded yellow curtains and was
reflected from the bare white walls. It was the old hall of the
Philharmonic concerts. The whiteness of the walls was unbroken by any
ornament, with only here and there a trace of former frescoes and its
meagre blue portieres threatening to come down at any moment. It had
all the air of a place that had been closed for a century and opened
again that day for the first time. But just this faded look of age, the
air of poverty, the nakedness of the walls lent a curious additional
flavour to the exquisite enjoyment of the audience, making their delight
seem more absorbing, loftier, purer by contrast. It was the 2nd of
February; at Montecitorio the Parli