found.

It was late in the afternoon before he got the message, on coming home
from a long day's work at the Ministry of War. He had not breakfasted
that day, for he had been unexpectedly sent for in the morning and had
been kept at the Ministry without a moment's respite. Without going to
his room he ran down the stairs again and hailed the first cab he met as
he hurried towards the Palazzo Farnese.

The bedroom door was still locked, but he spoke to Guido through it, in
answer to the rough order to go away which followed his first knock.
There was no reply.

"Please let me in," Lamberti said quietly. "I want very much to see
you."

Something like a growl came from the room, and presently there was a
sound of slippers on the smooth tiles, coming nearer. The key turned and
the door was opened a little.

"What is it?" Guido asked, in a voice unlike his own.

"I heard you were ill, and I have come to see you."

Lamberti spoke gently and steadily, but he was shocked by Guido's
appearance, as the latter stood before him in his loose silk garments,
looking gaunt and wild. There were great rings round his eyes, his face
was haggard and drawn, and his cheek-bones were flushed with the fever.
He looked much more ill than he really was, so far as his body was
concerned.

"Well, come in," he said, after a moment's hesitation.

As soon as Lamberti had entered Guido locked the door again to keep his
servant out.

"I suppose you had better be the first to know," he said hoarsely, as he
recrossed the room with unsteady steps.

He sat down upon the edge of his bed, supporting himself with his hands
on each side, his head a little bent.

"What has happened?" Lamberti asked, sitting on the nearest chair and
watching him. "Has your aunt been troubling you again?"

"No. It is worse than that." Guido paused, and his head sank lower. "The
Contessina has changed her mind," he managed to say clearly enough to be
understood.

Lamberti started and leaned forward.

"Do you mean to say that she has thrown you over?"

"Yes."

A dead silence followed. Then Guido threw himself on the bed again and
turned his face away.

"Say something, man," he cried, almost angrily.

The afternoon light streamed through the closed blinds and fell on the
crumpled sheet of the letter that lay at Lamberti's feet. He did not
know what he saw as he stared down at it, and he would have cut off his
hand rather than pry into any one's letters, bu