"Yes, everything, and he was so noble. I am so sorry. The tears stood in his eyes, and he said, 'I suffer, but I am a man. I can bear it.' Then he thanked me for dealing so openly with him. He never once hinted a reproach. And I deserved it," she said with unwonted humility. "I never felt before how wicked it is to flirt just a little. He is not selfish, like some people that I know;" and my thought followed hers. "I don't know but I am a little goose to let him go so. If he were only twenty-three years old, and I were free--" The next day we saw nothing of the count, but early Thursday morning Vincenzo knocked at my door with a note, in which Count Alvala informed me that he was my son, and begged earnestly to see the beautiful Miss St. Clair once more: he would never trouble me again. It was the only day on which we could see the Palace of the Cæsars, and would I be so good as to permit him to meet us there? I hastily penciled a few words: "I am waiting for Dr. Valery. I shall probably stay with my sick friend to-day, and Miss St. Clair will not go out without me," and sent the line by Vincenzo, happy to be rid of the importunate boy for this time. Two hours later, when the doctor had pronounced my friend better, and I had promised Helen a walk amid the ruins of the Palatine, which I did not like to leave Rome without seeing, I went down to the roll, coffee and eggs which constitute an Italian breakfast, and there sat the count as vigilant as a sentinel. "You will go?" said he with a smile. "I think we may," curtly. "I shall perhaps meet you there." When we reached the Farnese gate he was waiting there, which made the "perhaps" superfluous. We had a long ramble over the lonely hill, stretching out like a green New England pasture, but where from time to time we came unexpectedly upon flights of steps which led to massive substructures of stone, foundations of ancient palaces, and to excavated halls paved with mosaics and lined with frescoes more beautiful than those of Pompeii. There were many statues, more or less mutilated, and stately brick arches laden with a wealth of flowering shrubs, and here and there thickets of tall dark cypress trees, harmonious with ruins. My young companions were rather silent, but I fancy their thoughts were not engrossed with old historic lore. I made a conscientious effort to force mine into the ruts of association which I had supposed to be inevitable in such a spot, but the bright sunshine, the delicate blue of the distant Campagna, the living gladness of earth and air were too strong for me, and I inwardly applauded a lively American girl who interrupted her droning guide with the incisive "I don't care a snap for Cæsar."