In the Por San Maria Colville found masks and dominoes filling the shop windows and dangling from the doors. A devil in red and a clown in white crossed the way in front of him from an intersecting street; several children in pretty masquerading dresses flashed in and out among the crowd. He hurried to the Lung' Arno, and reached the palace where Mrs. Bowen lived, with these holiday sights fresh in his mind. Imogene turned to meet him at the door of the apartment, running from the window where she had left Effie Bowen still gazing. "We saw you coming," she said gaily, without waiting to exchange formal greetings. "We didn't know at first but it might be somebody else disguised as you. We've been watching the maskers go by. Isn't it exciting?" "Awfully," said Colville, going to the window with her, and putting his arm on Effie's shoulder, where she knelt in a chair looking out. "What have you seen?" "Oh, only two Spanish students with mandolins," said Imogene; "but you can see they're _beginning_ to come." "They'll stop now," murmured Effie, with gentle disappointment; "it's commencing to rain." "Oh, too bad!" wailed the young girl. But just then two mediaeval men-at-arms came in sight, carrying umbrellas. "Isn't that too delicious? Umbrellas and chain-armour!" "You can't expect them to let their chain-armour get rusty," said Colville. "You ought to have been with me--minstrels in scale-armour, Florentines of Savonarola's times, nuns, clowns, demons, fairies--no end to them." "It's very well saying we ought to have been with you; but we can't go anywhere alone." "I didn't say alone," said Colville. "Don't you think Mrs. Bowen would trust you with me to see these Carnival beginnings?" He had not meant at all to do anything of this kind, but that had not prevented his doing it. "How do we know, when she hasn't been asked?" said Imogene, with a touch of burlesque dolor, such as makes a dignified girl enchanting, when she permits it to herself. She took Effie's hand in hers, the child having faced round from the window, and stood smoothing it, with her lovely head pathetically tilted on one side. "What haven't I been asked yet?" demanded Mrs. Bowen, coming lightly toward them from a door at the side of the _salon_. She gave her hand to Colville with the prettiest grace, and a cordiality that brought a flush to her cheek. There had really been nothing between them but a little unreasoned coolness, if it were even so much as that; say rather a dryness, aggravated by time and absence, and now, as friends do, after a thing of that kind, they were suddenly glad to be good to each other. "Why, you haven't been asked how you have been this long time," said Colville. "I have been wanting to tell you for a whole week," returned Mrs. Bowen, seating the rest and taking a chair for herself. "Where have you been?" "Oh, shut up in my cell at Hotel d'Atene, writing a short history of the Florentine people for Miss Effie."