Cecilia had not completed her survey when she was startled by the tinkle of a bell and the approach of visitors. One glance assured her that egress by means of the door was cut off. She darted behind a sofa in the corner beside the window. Here she crouched on the floor, holding San Donato in her arms, and laughed silently. She did not fear to confront these guests. Who then? She dreaded the flash of her own mother's eye. Yes, indeed, her pretty mamma had ceased to love her, banished her more and more from her presence, made sharp or dry responses to her prattle. Cecilia sighed inaudibly as she crouched there. Hark! The visitors approached the window; she could touch one by extending her arm from her hiding-place. Who were they? Oh, some of her mamma's gentlemen friends lounging in for an afternoon call. They spoke in a low, rapid tone, and their conversation only reached her because of her propinquity. Birds of prey sometimes pass over the blooming valleys, the waving grain sown with wild flowers, the dove-cote beneath the cottage eaves, uttering their harsh, discordant cries while on the wing. The English voice, hoarse and deep: "It promises to be a slow season--awfully dull. No English coming out this year, I hear. Have you recently made the acquaintance of--la belle Americaine?" The French voice, clear and crisp in utterance: "Yes, last week, at the Spanish Embassy. She is really chic, mon ami." The English voice: "Her dinners are not at all bad. Lots of money, you know, and the count manages the whole establishment, from renting her the apartment of his uncle the Monsignor N---- to selecting the governess of the daughter and the _chef_. Ha! ha! ha!" The French voice: "Ah, the Count Martellini! And monsieur the husband is at home in America making the money, I suppose. Mon Dieu! How those men over yonder trust their wives! A charming arrangement for the count." The English voice: "Have you heard the latest rumor? They are actually going off together to the Nile after Christmas. A party is proposed, and that sort of thing, but every one knows that it will result in a dahabeeh to the cataract. Vive l'amour!" The French voice, changing to a louder key: "Ah, madame is looking so charming to-day!" Then a soft rustling of silken draperies over the polished floor announced the entrance of Mrs. Denvil, amiable greetings were exchanged, and the gentlemen became deferential and courteous in manner. Buy the respect of the insolent, by all means! All the same, two birds of prey had wheeled in heavy and sluggish flight over the valley where the grain ripened and the poppies bloomed, uttering their discordant, mocking cry.