to himself.

The flood of lyric fervour that had passed over his soul at Maria's name
had submerged the anxiety of his vigil, had appeased his desire and
calmed his impatience. For a moment, the thought that she would not come
only made him smile. But the next, the anguish of uncertainty began
again worse than ever, and he was tortured by the vision of the joys
that might have been his, here in the warm carriage where the roses
breathed so sweet an atmosphere. Besides which, his sufferings were
further increased, as on New Year's Eve, by a sharp touch of wounded
vanity; it annoyed him particularly that his delicate preparations for a
love scene should thus be wasted and useless.

In the carriage, the cold was tempered by the pleasant warmth diffused
by a metal foot-warmer, full of hot water. A bunch of white roses,
snowy, moonlike, lay on the bracket in front of the seat. A white
bear-skin covered his knees. Everything pointed to an intentional
arrangement of a sort of _Symphonie en blanc-majeur_.

The clocks struck for the third time. It was a quarter to twelve. The
vigil had lasted too long--Andrea was growing tired and cross. In
Elena's apartments, in the left wing of the palace, there was no light
but that which came from outside. Was she coming? And if so, in what
manner? Secretly? Under what pretext? Lord Heathfield was certainly in
Rome--how would she explain her nocturnal absence? Once more the soul of
the former lover was torn with curiosity; once more jealousy gnawed at
his heart and carnal passion inflamed him. He thought of Musellaro's
derisive suggestion about the husband, and he determined to have Elena
again at all costs, both for pleasure and for revenge. Oh, if only she
would come!

A carriage drove through the gates and into the garden. He leaned
forward to look at it. He recognised Elena's horses and caught a glimpse
inside of the figure of a woman. The carriage disappeared into the
portico. He remained perplexed. She had been out then? She had returned
alone? He fixed a scrutinising gaze upon the portico. The carriage came
out, passed through the garden and drove away towards the Via Rasella;
it was empty.

It wanted but two or three minutes to midnight and she had not come!

It struck the hour. A bitter pang smote the heart of the deluded
watcher. She was not coming.

Unable to see any cause for her having missed the appointment he turned
upon her in sudden anger; he even had a suspicion tha