Angelescu, lying back on the couch, his hands clasped above his head, felt agreeably tired from his morning's doings, half-drowsy, yet not inclined to sleep. He felt still less inclined to read, however, his unfinished novel lay unheeded on the floor by his side and he was debating inwardly how best to pass the time till four o'clock when he could go to the _sferisterio_ and watch a match game of _pallone_, when a page knocked at his door and brought him a note on a salver. "From a lady, Signor Conte, she is waiting for the answer." A lady? What lady could be writing to him? Some chance acquaintance of his travels perhaps, who had recognised him from a distance. He tore open the envelope and read with eyes that seemed suddenly petrified in their sockets: "I saw in the paper that you are stopping here. I _must_ see you, that is if you still think of me in the same way as when you wrote to me in Rome. If not, let me go away as I have come, don't try to see me. I shall await your answer. "RAGNA." The note had evidently been written in a hurry, under pressure of some extraordinary emotion, so much the handwriting told him. For the rest, she wanted him, she appealed to him, for he read the appeal in the few words of the note. What could it mean? How did she happen to be here? He stood with the note in his hand, lost to his surroundings, fairly dazed by the unexpectedness of the summons, now that it had come. The boy ventured to remind him of his presence. "What message shall I give the lady, Signor Conte?" "Tell her,--or stay, I will take her the answer myself. Where is she?" "In the drawing-room, Signor Conte." Thrusting the note into his pocket, Angelescu strode from the room and made his way to the drawing-room with beating heart. A graceful figure rose from the sofa to meet him, both hands outstretched. He took them and drawing Ragna to him, clasped her in his arms; she submitted for an instant, but speedily released herself. "No, no!" she cried. "You must not! You do not know!" CHAPTER XI