“Nothing that she dislikes will do her any good,” he told Colonel Disney. “There is no use in being persistent about anything. Fancies and whims stand for a great deal in such an illness as hers.” A week or two later the same kind doctor discovered that his patient was fast losing ground. Her strength had flagged considerably in a short time. He recommended change of scene. “This quiet life suited her wonderfully well for the first month or so, but we are no longer making any headway. You had better try a gayer place--a little more life and movement.” Martin Disney was ready to obey. He and Allegra took counsel together, and then--in the lightest strain, one evening after dinner--they discussed the notion of a change. “Shall we strike our tents, Isola? Are you tired of San Remo?” “No, Martin. I am tired of myself, sometimes--never of these olive woods and lemon groves. Sometimes the stillness and the silent beauty of the place make me feel unhappy, without knowing why; but that is a kind of unhappiness no one can escape.” “Is there any place in the world within tolerable easy reach of this that you would like to see?” asked her husband. “Yes, there is one city in the world that I have been longing to see ever since I began to have thoughts and wishes.” “And that is----” “Rome! I should like to see Rome before I die, Martin; if it were not too troublesome for you----” “Troublesome! My dearest, can anything be troublesome to me if it can but give you pleasure? You shall see Rome--not once--but again and again, in the course of a long and happy life, I hope. I am more than twenty years older than you; but I count upon at least thirty years more upon this planet, before I blow out my candle and say ‘_Bon soir_.’” “God grant that you may live to a good old age, Martin. The world is better for such a man as you.” “The world would be no place for me without my wife,” he said. “And so you would like to see Rome, Isa? What has put that fancy into your head?” “Oh, it is an old dream, as I said just now. And lately I have been talking to Father Rodwell, who knows Rome as well as if he were a Roman citizen, and he has made me more and more anxious to go there. If it would not be a great plague to you, Martin.” “On the contrary, it would be a great pleasure. We will go to Rome, Isa, if your doctor approve. Allegra will like it, I know.” “Like it?” echoed Allegra, “I shall simply be intoxicated with delight. I know the catalogues of all the picture-galleries by heart. I think I know every one of the seven hills as well as if I had walked upon them from my childhood. I have read so many descriptions of the place and its surroundings--so many raptures penned by people whom I have envied for nothing else than that they have known Rome; they have lived in Rome.”