Jenny was in the street again now, but Miss Schulin reached out her hand—there was plenty of room. “I’m sorry for the horse,” said Heggen curtly, and Jenny started to walk at his side behind the cab, the last among those who had not got room in the vehicle, which rolled on ahead. “You don’t mean to say you want to be with these people any longer—to walk as far as Paneperna for that?” said Heggen. “We might meet an empty cab on the way.” “How can you be bothered with them?—they are all drunk,” he added. Jenny laughed in a languid way. “So am I, I suppose.” Heggen did not answer. They had reached the Piazza di Spagna when she stopped: “You are not coming with us, then, Gunnar?” “Yes, if you absolutely insist on going on—otherwise not.” “You need not come for my sake. I can get home all right, you know.” “If you go, I go—I am not going to let you walk about alone with those people in that state.” She laughed—the same limp, indifferent laugh. “You will be too tired to sit to me tomorrow.” “Oh, I shall be able to sit all right.” “You won’t; and anyhow, I shan’t be able to work properly if I have to walk about all night.” Jenny shrugged her shoulders, but started to walk in the direction of Babuina—the opposite way to the rest of the party. Two policemen passed them; otherwise there was not a living soul to be seen. The fountain was playing in front of the Strada di Spagna, lying white with moonlight and bordered by black and silver glittering evergreen shrubs. Suddenly Jenny spoke in a hard and scornful voice: “I know you mean it kindly, Gunnar. It is good of you to try and take care of me, but it is not worth while.” He walked on in silence. “No, not if you have no will of your own,” he said after a while. “Will”—imitating him. “Yes; I said will.” Her breath came quick and sharp, as if she wanted to answer, but she checked herself. She was suddenly filled with disgust—she knew that she was half drunk, but she would not accentuate it by beginning to shout, moan, and explain—perhaps cry, before Gunnar. She set her teeth. They reached their own entrance. Heggen opened the door and struck a match to light her up the endless flight of dark stone steps. Their two small rooms were on the half-landing at the end of the stairs; a small passage outside their doors ended in a marble staircase leading to the flat roof of the house. At her door she shook hands with him, saying in a low voice: “Good-night, Gunnar—thanks for tonight.” “Thank you. Sleep well.” “Same to you.”