Fru Bjork had taken tickets to the _veglione_ in the Costanzi Theatre, and Astrid was wild with anticipation. She raged at the indifference displayed by Ragna, who was so absorbed in her fool's Paradise that the _veglione_ might as well not have existed. Her detachment was the more noticeable as even Estelle Hagerup had caught the contagion of excitement and was feverishly weighing the rival advantages of a pea-green domino and a purple one. Astrid had chosen pale blue, but Ragna when pressed decided on black. She had promised to spend the day of the _veglione_ with Prince Mirko. They were to drive out into the country, far from the noisy merry-making, and though he had not said so, she felt that it was to be their last day together--the time for separation was approaching, the end of the idyll at hand. So on the morning of that fateful _mardi gras_ she met him, as arranged, by the Pantheon. He was waiting with a _botte_, drawn by two strong little Maremmano horses with pheasant feathers stuck in their head-stalls and tinkling bells on the harness. The driver, a bronzed aquiline featured Roman, beamed on her as she approached, having often driven them on shorter excursions. Mirko helped her in and took his place beside her, laying on her lap a huge bunch of fragrant white narcissus and violets. She buried her face in the flowers, breathing the perfume voluptuously. "Where are we going?" she asked. "Oh, quite out, over the Campagna, away from everything and everybody." He squeezed her hand and she smiled happily. It was warm for the season, almost sultry, as the Scirocco was blowing. The sun was comfortably hot, but heavy clouds banking the horizon promised rain before night-fall. They drove out the Via Appia past the tomb of Cecilia Metella; the green grass springing fresh between the mortuary tablets bordering the way, and from the walls showed the rapid advance of spring, and as they left the city farther behind, the whole Campagna in new radiance of colour appeared to them as a bride arrayed for her wedding day. The pale pink of the almond blossom in delicate tracery against the deep blue of the sky, the rich dark ilexes with light green tender shoots, the silvery grey of the olives, all looked more like a fairy picture than anything that could possibly be real. This awakening of Nature, this decking out of all the Earth in bridal array, could not but have its effect on the lovers. All creation was breaking into bud and blossom, the spirit of love permeated the very air with the mysterious intoxication of the new running sap in the trees, the awakening to life of the flowers, the song of the birds. It was the mating season. Mirko and Ragna sat in silence, his right hand closed on her left; she felt strong vibrations passing from his hand to hers, she was burning with a vague mysterious excitement too deep for expression.