Mariana shook her head, and pushed away her tea with a gesture of disgust. "But I practise at Signor Morani's. He lets me use one of his rooms." He noticed that she spoke cheerfully, and that a wave of her lost freshness had returned to her face. The instantaneous effect of her moods upon her appearance was an ever-recurring surprise to him. It was as if, by the play of her features, she unconsciously translated feeling into expression. In a moment she spoke again. "It is a part that I have been studying," she continued, "and I must commit the words to memory." He picked it up. It was a serio-comic opera, entitled, "La Sorciere." "Morani says that my voice has developed during the long rest. He was surprised when I sang." "Was he?" asked Anthony, absently. He was wondering dully what would be the end of Mariana's ambitions--if there was any end for ambitions other than obliteration. Had fate anything to offer more durable than dust and ashes? Mariana glanced about her and her face clouded. "It is that horrible cabbage again," she complained. "I believe those people down-stairs do nothing but fry cabbage. It makes me ill." Anthony was recalled from his abstraction with a sense of annoyance. "It seems to me," he retorted, sharply, "that, in our condition, to worry over a grievance of that order would be refreshing--when one's heels are hanging over the verge of starvation, it is a relief to be allowed to smell some one else's dinner." "That depends upon what the dinner consists of," Mariana rejoined. "I may be reduced to living on dry bread, but I hope you will spare me the fried cabbage." "You speak as if I had reduced you to this state for my own gratification." His temper was getting the better of him, and, with a snap, he set his teeth and was silent. The mental distress, the stimulants he had used to spur a jaded brain into action, and his failing health had left him a prey to anger. An unexpected interruption, a jarring sound, a trivial mishap, were sufficient to cause him an outburst from which he often saved himself by flight. Mariana replied tartly. "I am sure I don't see how my objection to living upon fried cabbage could reflect upon you. I did not know you cared for it." "You know I do not. But I don't see why you should make a fuss about a wholesome article of food." "It is not wholesome. It is exceedingly indigestible." "At any rate, it belongs to your neighbors. You aren't forced to eat it." "No, but you implied that the time would come when I'd be glad to. I merely said it never would." "Then let the cabbage be damned," said Algarcife. "Gladly," responded Mariana, and they said no more.