Anne rose from her chair by the balustrade and groped her way down into the garden. Yes, she mused, Vittorio was a remarkable man. He deserved a better woman than herself. She ought to be ashamed for having kept him waiting so long. She strolled towards the house, whose lighted windows flickered welcome from behind closed shutters. Should she write to Vittorio to come at once? Perhaps? How happy it would make the dear little Marchesa. Yes, she would write to him now, at once, before the mood passed. With a resolute step she walked up to the terrace and entered the villa, going directly to her desk in the library. It was perhaps an evasive little letter, after all, she thought, as she stamped and gave it to the contadine's boy to mail. But it would fetch Vittorio, of that she was sure. Allowing three or four days for it to reach him (it might just miss the boat from Naples) she ought to be able to count upon seeing him within ten days or perhaps even sooner. She went upstairs and with the help of Regina changed into a loose, peplum-like tea-gown. Supremely happy in her beloved Firenze, the woman chattered volubly and flew about the large, austere room, like a bright-eyed magpie. Amusement curved Anne's lips as she watched her. What boundless joy it would give Regina when she herself became a Marchesa. Gleaming hair wound about her head like a copper helmet, amber draperies clinging to the long, slim body, she wended her way downstairs and into the dining room. After dinner she sat before the fire in the library, whose crowded bookshelves gleamed like jewels in the light of the flames. A volume of memoirs upon her knees, she gazed into the blaze absently. About ten o'clock the gate-bell rang and she heard a car drive into the courtyard. Perhaps the Principe, or some young officer whom she was in the habit of meeting at the Tennis Club in the Cascine. Not in the mood for visitors, she rose and made for the stairs. "Give my excuses, Sandro," she commenced, as the old butler appeared in the doorway. But she was too late, for the visitor had followed close upon the man's heels. Decidedly annoyed, she turned and faced the intruder, a courteous smile upon her lips. If Anne had been a frail woman, she might have fainted. As she was, she came nearer to it than ever in her life before. The color drained from her face. She stared with dilated eyes, as a slim, tall man traversed the distance between them in a few short strides. "Anne, I have come back. Will you take me?" Falling at her feet, Alexis encircled her knees with relentless young arms. CHAPTER XXVII CLAIRE'S CHILD Anne led Alexis into the library, and fell into a chair before the fire. "What does this mean? Have you left Claire after all?" Her widened eyes stared at Alexis coldly. So all his good resolutions had meant just nothing? The weakling strain would out. She might have guessed it.