One afternoon, she happened to accompany Père Etienne to the hall-door, at the hour when the complicated business of afternoon tea was in progress. Small bamboo tables were scattered about between Chinese screens and immense palms, and at one of these tables, some distance away from the door, sat a good-natured, pleasant little Russian old lady, giving tea to a fellow-countryman, a tall, handsome, energetic, young-looking Russian of about forty, with an occasional grey thread in his thick, dark hair. The old lady, with a whispered remark, pointed Irene out to her visitor. He looked round with some curiosity, and then muttered, with a frown: “What is this stupid, new fashion? Our women seem unable to look at a Roman priest without renouncing Orthodoxy!” VI A magnificent January moonlight night had wrapped the world in its silence. Rome was nestling in the warm, pale blue air; there were fantastic shapes and shadows everywhere; the magic of the darkness had wiped out all contrasts between ruins and modern buildings, and everything alike, churches, houses, streets, seemed unreal and enchanted. Most beautiful of all, however, was the Colosseum, towards which Irene turned her steps that night. Like all foreigners, she had considered it her duty to see this famous ruin by moonlight, and had on a previous occasion visited it for this purpose, in company with several of the tourists staying at her _pension_. Their commonplace expressions of delight, however, had entirely spoilt the impression for her, and this time, tempted by the clear moonlight, she decided to go alone, and enjoy the unique beauty of the Colosseum in solitude. Fate was kind to Irene. The enormous circus was entirely deserted but for the almost invisible shadows of a few distant tourists, and the outline of a tall man standing at the entrance, wrapt in admiration of the grandiose spectacle. Irene had just seated herself on a stone, when suddenly out of the shadows, as though from nowhere, sprang the figure of an old guide, declaiming pathetically, and addressing himself to Irene: “Voici ce fameux Colisée, ce cirque épatant, où les malheureux chrétiens⸺” Irene was so annoyed, that she cried out, and even shook her umbrella at him. The guide cut short his eloquence, and turned away grumbling. Irene suddenly felt ashamed. She followed the poor old man and offered him money, but the proud Roman refused. Cursing Irene and all her relations and friends, and expressing the wish that her first-born might be burnt in hell, he withdrew with dignity. Irene turned round. The tall Russian had been watching the scene with interest. They looked at each other, and both involuntarily laughed.