laces, that the Contessa di Forno-Populo was known. It is
this, my Bice, that makes me say that sometimes I am of Milady's
opinion; that to have no wishes, to know nothing, to desire
nothing--that is best. When I knew the Duchess first I could be of
service to her. Now that I meet her again it is she only that can be of
service to me."

"But----" Bice began and stopped short. She was, as has been said, a
girl of many experiences. When a very young creature is thus prematurely
introduced to a knowledge of human nature she approaches the subject
with an impartiality scarcely possible at an older age. She had seen
much. She had been acquainted with those vicissitudes that occur in the
lives of the seekers of pleasure almost since ever she was born. She had
been acquainted with persons of the most gay and cheerful appearance,
who had enjoyed themselves highly, and called all their acquaintances
round them to feast, and who had then suddenly collapsed and after an
interval of tears and wailings had disappeared from the scene of their
downfall. But Bice had not learnt the commonplace lesson so deeply
impressed upon the world from the Athenian Timon downwards, that a
downfall of this kind instantly cuts all ties. She was aware, on the
contrary, that a great deal of kindness, sympathy, and attempts to aid
were always called forth on such occasions; that the women used to form
a sort of rampart around the ruined with tears and outcries, and that
the men had anxious meetings and consultations and were constantly going
to see some one or other upon the affairs of the downfallen. Bice had
not seen in her experience that poverty was an argument for desertion.
She was so worldly wise that she did not press her question as a simple
girl might have done. She stopped short with an air of bewilderment and
pain, which the Contessa, as her head was turned, did not see. She gave
up the inquiry; but there arose in her mind a suspicion, a question,
such as had not ever had admission there before.

"Ah!" cried the Contessa, suddenly turning round, clasping her hands,
"it was different indeed when my house was open to all these English,
and they came as they pleased. But now I do not know, if I am turned out
of this house, this dull house in which I have taken refuge, where I
shall go. I don't know where to go!"

"Madama!" Bice sprang to her feet too, and clasped her hands.

"It is true--it is quite true. We have spent everything. I have not