What a happy Barnaba! How the sun shone, and the trees whispered that day, and how she talked to him, told him of all the years, of her travels, for she had seen much, and he sat and listened, and wove the flowers together, and watched her white hands and her full, soft throat. And after the lady Henrighetta talked she sang a little. It was such a fair day, so dreamy, and shady, and restful. She sang scraps of old Italian songs. When Barnaba had finished the wreath he handed it to her to place upon her head. "What shall I give you for this?" she said, and held out her hand. It was only a moment, yet it was a long enough moment to have placed a kiss upon it, and Barnaba was a man, and Barnaba longed to do it, but did he dare? While he wondered Giuseppe and her father joined them, and they all walked home to Henrighetta's together, talking of the olden times. Then they bade her good-by. She lingered at the doorway to watch them go. Barnaba looked back once and saw her standing there, all in white, with the wreath he had made crowning her dark hair. "And the fragrance shall last for ever," he whispered so softly that Giuseppe did not hear. The next day Guido came home. He was a real soldier now, with spurs and a jaunty cloak, and such a twinkle in his eye and swing in his walk and laugh in his voice that you longed to see him enter the room, and wished for him to speak--not that he said so much, but he said it so well. The quiet home was always changed when Guido arrived. Merry songs were heard all over the house, horns, and racings, and laughter. And this time Guido was more than ever gay. He and the lady Henrighetta grew to be great friends. They would ride and walk, and although there were always people with them, they seemed to talk for each other all the time, and to smile for each other all the time. Every one saw it and smiled too--every one but Barnaba. He was very busy during this while with his father, correcting proofs for a new book on archæology. It was not until twelve long days had gone by that he again saw the lady Henrighetta. Then he went over one evening to her father's villa, "where we are to have some plays as we used to do," said Guido. Barnaba's heart beat hard, and he longed to see the lady Henrighetta again. She was getting ready for the play. "Barnaba, you are to be page, please," said Guido, "and hold my lady's train." So Barnaba was page, and the play began. There were many strange faces and voices in it, and it was a studied play, each part learned by rote. It did not seem like old times at all. Barnaba began to feel very far away, when suddenly he was called to where the lady Henrighetta was, and bidden to follow her as her page. She greeted him kindly. "All you have to do is to stand by my side," she said. To stand by her side! And then the curtain rose again, and the lady Henrighetta, clad in regal robes, sailed forward, and Barnaba, clad as a page, followed her meekly and stood at her side.