The most cruel pain of all, however, was that occasioned by a gradually awakening doubt about the justice of her own beliefs. It seemed to her that, logically, it was time God rewarded her in some way for her scrupulous honesty, and she suffered at the absence of this reward. In observing the lives of others, Irene could persuade herself that if they had no outward success, they enjoyed the greater blessing of inner peace and happiness. It was difficult, however, to deceive her own self in this matter; for, indeed, poor Irene not only had no happiness, but the boon of inner peace had not even been granted to her. Her soul had been wounded, torn, immersed in darkness and despair, from which there seemed no escape. And yet there, before her very eyes, wicked and dishonourable people triumphed and rejoiced. How was this to be explained? Could her credo have been a mistake, could she have been struggling and wandering all her life along the wrong path? Such an admission would have been, for Irene, equal to suicide—for she could never have reconciled herself to a world in which only wickedness and deceit triumph. Life in Russia grew at last so unbearable that she decided to emigrate. Her first idea was to go and live in England, with which country she was acquainted through the medium of her beloved English novels. By chance, however, Zola’s “Rome,” with its magnificent descriptions of Roman life, fell into her hands, and she suddenly felt drawn towards Italy. It is for this reason that we find her, on this warm autumn day, sitting in the garden of the Monte Pincio. II Irene’s first impression on arriving in Rome was one of disappointment. Her imagination was impregnated with visions of the Roman Forum, of proud Romans in togas, of fighting gladiators, of the splendour of the Emperors and the dazzling luxury of the papal court. What wonder, then, if she almost resented the many-storied houses, the shops, the tramways, and the prosaic crowd in its ugly, contemporary attire? Her disappointment, however, was only transitory, and in spite of her depressed and gloomy state of mind, the magic charm of Rome soon won the day over her low spirits. It is always, indeed, difficult for a northerner to resist the sparkling and effervescent sense of gaiety which awakens in his heart under the rays of the southern sun.