For some little time she did not fret, either, at Signor Oriole’s silence and non-appearance at the studio. She remembered and understood what he had said about needing solitude in order to get accustomed to his new conditions and mode of life. She presently, however, began to be sorry that she had let him slip away from her without giving his address. He had promised to send it, but it came not, nor any word from him, and after two or three weeks had passed she began to grow uneasy. She remembered the wretched condition of his circumstances and finances when she had last seen him; his silent unhappiness on parting with her--an unhappiness through which at the same time glowed a resolution not to give up his self-elected solitude; and when days had grown into weeks, and still she heard nothing of him, her alarm began to increase, and the hopelessness of seeking through Rome for a man who had chosen to bury himself in it without leaving any address became daily more obvious to her. Once she thought of calling upon Signora Dietrich and asking for news of both Fulvia and Signor Giuseppe. Then she laughed aloud all by herself, feeling that she might as well ask the first person she met in the street for such information. Both the girl and the man were unlikely to confide their affairs to Signora Dietrich, and even if they should have done so, Minna felt with what pleasure the signora would look at her (Mrs. Hastings) should she be weak enough to go in search of information--would look at her and send her about her business rather less wise than she had been before. For the first time since she had known Rome she was weary of it, and longed to get away from it. Letters from home also made her feel that her presence there was desirable, if not absolutely necessary, to regulate the affairs of her modest household, and to set in order feuds amongst certain old retainers whom the absence of their mistress had set by the ears. She wrote home to say that she was coming, and that all was to be in readiness for her towards the end of May; thus she gave herself still some time to linger and to be present when Signor Giuseppe came--if come he should. Meantime, in order to try to forget her anxiety, she had been working hard at the bust of Fulvia, and she intended to take it home with her, finished. Looking upon it, she knew that it was beautiful--knew that, in her own intense feelings for and sympathy with its original, she had succeeded in throwing into the beautiful sad features a whole world of meaning--of grace, of sorrow, of proud endurance. She stopped sometimes in her work, and gazed upon it, and pondered on the matter.