When she went into Bice's room, she found her pacing up and down, flushed and feverish. "So you have seen that man," the girl began vehemently; "Mamma, for pity's sake say nothing about him. Kitty has gone away crying because I will not listen. I shall go mad, I believe--I cannot even tell you what he has done. Ask Mr Ibbetson. Only I will not marry him, whatever you owe him; are human beings to be sold like that in these days? Let us go back, I will work, I will--" "My dear, you are so impetuous! do not wish you to marry him." Bice paused in her rapid movements. "And the money?" She asked the question breathlessly. "The money will be paid to-day." The change in her face seemed to light the very room. She flung her arms round her mother's neck, tears were running down her face. "It is for joy," she sobbed. "Do you mean that we are free, that he can do nothing more?" But after this she made none of the inquiries which her mother dreaded; sitting quietly, and looking out of the window, and every now and then drawing a long breath, as if a burden were lifted from her. That evening a great bouquet came for the Signorina Capponi. The next morning, as Moroni was again going to choose the best flowers he could find for his lady, Trent passed by him on his way to the station. He looked like what he was; a man who had aimed for an object and had lost it. Of Moroni he took no notice; it was Ibbetson to whom he attributed his defeat. But Moroni in the joy of his heart, bought a magnificent peacock made entirely of flowers, at which the Roman world had been staring for an hour or two, and gave orders for its being sent to Palazzo Capponi. And Jack, when he was called upon for advice that day, thought Giovanni's views as to proceeding slowly were a good deal modified. At any rate, he saw Bice. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. FATHER TIBER. The carnival had ended and Lent begun with days of heavy and unusual rain. People who were bent upon sight-seeing were obliged to fall back upon the galleries and studios, and these were so dark that the general gloom seemed to have also affected them. One day, five or six people were wandering through Vertunni's beautiful rooms. There are hangings of strange colours, damasks, tapestries, draperies over the doors, priceless bits of glass or bronze, out of the midst of which rich and soft surroundings the pictures glow. Sometimes it is Italy--the gloom of the Pontine marshes, the light of Paestum. Sometimes you lose yourself in a sea-mist were a boat floats between sky and earth; sometimes meet with Egypt's dusky radiance, or the sweep of the sand on the desert...