He kissed her again, and this time she did not resist. When he released her she was breathless and her head swam; she could feel her heart leaping in her bosom and she pressed her hands upon it to still its wild beating. Her face was white as marble and her eyes shone strangely as though illuminated by fires within. In that moment, Mirko really loved her; her confidence appealed to all that was best in him, so realizing that he would not trust himself further he made the move to go. "It is late _Anima mia_, I must take you home now." He encircled her waist with his arm under cover of her cloak and they walked slowly back through the dark streets to the Piazza Montecitorio, talking as they went. Or rather it was Mirko who talked and Ragna listened, held in thrall by the musical voice of her lover. It did not occur to her that to make love with such _mæstria_ presupposes a large and varied experience. He left her with a kiss under the gloomy _portone_, and she sped up the stairs, wondering how she should explain her absence in case of discovery. There was no need, however, for Rosa promptly answered her timid knocking, and at a sign from her followed her to her room. "Here," said Ragna, taking a little brooch from its case and tendering it to the maid, "take this, Rosa,--it is the little present I spoke of." "_Ma Signorina, che le pare?_" exclaimed Rosa with great deprecation, "it is much too fine for me,--I will take nothing for so small a service. It is a night made by the good God for lovers, do I not understand that? I also have an _innamorato, Signorina_!" Ragna, who two hours earlier would have felt unspeakably humiliated by such a speech, now was conscious of a fellow feeling for the girl--such is the freemasonry of love. She smiled and tucking the trinket into Rosa's hand, said: "Then you will wear this to remember me by, and also to look well in the eyes of your _fidanzato_." "_Grazie Signorina_, a thousand thanks! And may your _innamorato_ be as faithful as you are beautiful." "Faithful," repeated Ragna to herself when she had closed the door behind the retreating form of the maid. "What is faithlessness,--memory? For us there can be no other." It pleased her to think of her romance as set apart from the common lot. "It is an oasis in the desert," she thought,--"it will be as he says, something to look back on all our lives." For a long time she lay awake, gazing into the dark, her pulses throbbing as she thought of his kisses. CHAPTER IV The end of Carnival was approaching and many shops displayed dominoes, masks and various disguises and travesties in their windows. The merry madness was in the air and all Rome was keyed up to a pitch of wild gaiety, so soon to relapse into devotional gloom.