t was all imagination or whether it was a memory of something I once
knew and had forgotten."

"What did you dream?" Guido sipped his wine and leaned back to listen,
hoping that his friend was going to speak out at last.

"Was the temple of Vesta in the Forum?" enquired Lamberti.

"Certainly."

"But why did they always say that it was the round one in front of Santa
Maria in Cosmedin? I have an old bronze inkstand that is a model of it.
My mother used to tell me it was the temple of Vesta."

"People thought it was--thirty years ago. There is nothing left of the
temple but the round mass of masonry on which it stood. It is between
the Fountain of Juturna and the house of the Vestals. I have Signor
Boni's plans of it. Should you like to see them?"

"Yes--presently," answered Lamberti, with more eagerness than Guido had
expected. "Is there anything like a reconstruction of the temple or of
the house--a picture of one, I mean?"

"I think so," said Guido. "I am sure there is Baldassare Peruzzi's
sketch of the temple, as it was in his day."

"I dreamt that I saw it last night, the temple and the house, and all
the Forum besides, and not in ruins either, but just as everything was
in old times. Could the Vestals' house have had an upper story? Is that
possible?"

"The archaeologists are sure that it had," answered Guido, becoming more
interested. "Do you mean to say that you dreamt you saw it with an upper
story?"

"Yes. And the temple was something like the one they used to call
Vesta's, only it was more ornamented, and the columns seemed very near
together. The round wall, just within the columns, was decorated with
curious designs in low relief--something like a wheel, and scallops, and
curved lines. It is hard to describe, but I can see it all now."

Guido rose from his seat quickly.

"I will get the number that has the drawing in it," he said, explaining.

During the few moments that passed while he was out of the room Lamberti
sat staring at his empty place as fixedly as he had stared at the dark
line of the Janiculum a few minutes earlier. The man-servant, who had
been with him at sea, watched him with a sort of grave sympathy that is
peculiarly Italian. Then, as if an idea of great value had struck him,
he changed Lamberti's plate, poured some red wine into the tumbler, and
filled it up with water. Then he retired and watched to see whether his
old master would drink. But Lamberti did not move.

"Here