ime." Then, with a sudden illumination of
face and a delicious intonation of the musical voice, "Perhaps they will
never marry: perhaps it will be another man--I." (Blessed infatuation of
youth, with its wonderful _perhapses_, which never come to maturer
years!)

"One of these years I shall hope to hear that you are married to a
beautiful lady of your own country and your own religion."

"You never will."

"Oh yes, you will be astonished to find how easy it is to forget."

"I come of a constant race," said he proudly. "My father loved my
mother, and they sent him all over the world to forget her, but he came
home in five years and married her."

"Even if it were otherwise possible (which it is not), the difference in
religion ought to prevent it. How could so good a Catholic as you
distress your family by marrying a heretic?"

"Perhaps she would be a Catholic." (I noticed that he did not say,
"Perhaps I shall become a Protestant.") "Don't you think her father
would let her marry a Catholic?"

"No," I replied stoically.

He was silent and dejected.

"You must forget her," said I kindly. "It is only a little while since
you first saw her."

"A little while! It is my whole life!" "Only a few weeks," I continued.
"We shall soon be across the ocean, and you will see other ladies."

"There is only one Miss St. Clair."

"I beg your pardon--there are three of them." But the boy was too
miserable to notice this poor little sally.

We were approaching the hotel. "I shall not see you again at present,"
said he. "Monsignore will arrive this evening, and I must be at home to
receive him. But I shall be in Paris by the middle of May, and I shall
see you there: farewell till then."

The next morning Miss St. Clair and I were on our way to Florence. A
week later, on our return from the convent of San Marco, where we had
seen the cell of Savonarola and many lovely but faded frescoes of Fra
Angelico and Fra Bartolommeo, whom should we find waiting for us in our
temporary home on the Via Pandolfini but Count Alvala? I felt annoyed,
and my face must have revealed it, for he said deprecatingly, "You ought
to be glad to see your boy, Madame Fleming, for I have come this long
journey only for a day, expressly to see you."

"Well," said I, "you took me so by surprise that I had not my welcome
ready. I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you till after our
arrival in Paris."

"That is why I am here. I shall not be able to