mined, long before, that this, her one true
friendship, was to be but episodic. It was the prologue to a drama
undreamed of as yet; the last act of which was to take place many years
after the apparent end, now so near at hand.

Upon the morning of March 15th, a soft and sunny day of the treacherous
Italian spring, Ivan, presenting himself at the familiar door, was
informed that Princess Nikitenko was indisposed, and begged him to
excuse her till the morrow. Thus the wording of the message, which
produced no more effect than a little disappointment. Ivan loitered
about the streets for an hour, and then suddenly decided to go up to
Fiesole and spend his day upon the pleasant height that overlooks the
"smokeless city" and the valley of the winding Arno. As he rode up, and
up, through the sunshine, past fields just touched with the first,
faint, exquisite green, a slow intoxication began to tingle through his
veins; and lo! the creative instinct came trembling through him once
again.

From that moment, time ceased. The hours passed dreamwise. And, at the
falling of the day, when the blood-splashed glory of the western sky was
balanced in the east by the soft radiance of the low-swinging moon, his
latest inspiration swelled towards its culmination. Long and long he sat
alone on the little terrace before the gray, stone church, his mind
wandering through space to the accompaniment of wondrous harmonies,
himself oblivious of time and men.

It was after one o'clock when at last he reached his apartment and
entered the antechamber where, to his astonishment, stood Piotr, anxiety
written on his wrinkled face. As the door shut behind Ivan, and he
stepped into the light of the hanging lantern, Piotr started forward,
crying:

"Excellency!--At last!"

"Who else could it have been?--What are you waiting for?"

"It might have been one of Madame Nikitenko's men.--At four this
afternoon her major-domo came saying that the Princess is believed to be
dying. She--"

"Good God!--_Dying!_"

"There was a hemorrhage early in the morning; and--"

"She has sent for me?"

"They have come three times, Excellency; but I could not reach you. I
had no idea where you--"

Ivan cut him short with a nod, clapped on his hat again, and ran
hurriedly out into the peaceful, moonlit night.

Fifteen minutes later he was standing at the door of her apartment. He
had not yet knocked; for his heart was beating, tumultuously, and he
knew that he w