We plunged into the cool deep shadows of the colonnade. We turned into the Corso della Giovecca. Down the long dim street all the houses stood in darkness, save for a faint patch of light which carpeted the pavement in front of her hotel. “Your maid will be wondering what has happened.” She looked at me curiously. “She won’t. I didn’t bring her.” “Good-night until to-morrow.” “Good-night.” She looked back once from the doorway and smiled. She entered. The sleepy porter came out and swung to the gates. I was amazed at her bewitching indiscretion. For myself it did not matter. But what of her, if we should be seen together? A man can afford such accidents; but a woman---- I tried to deceive myself. Our meeting was, as she had said, haphazard. We were both alone in Italy. Our routes lay in the same direction. What more natural than that we should travel together? But I knew that this was not the case. I determined to open her eyes to the risks she was taking. Next morning when I woke, I wondered vaguely what was the cause of this strange elation. Then memory came back. I jumped out of bed and flung the shutters wide. Out in the piazza some earlier risers were already seated at the tables. A man was watering the pavement, singing gaily to himself. Beneath the trees a parrot and a cockatoo screeched, hurling insults at one another from their perches. A soldier showed his teeth and laughed, talking to a broad-hipped peasant girl. At the top of the piazza a slim white figure waited. I made haste with my dressing. I was extremely happy. I tried to analyze the situation, but lost patience with myself. Picking up my hat and running down the stairs, I came across her standing outside the Cathedral, in the full glare of the sun. Before I had spoken she turned, darting like a pigeon, instinctively aware of my approach. “I’ve beaten you by nearly two hours,” she called gaily. We passed into the fruit-market. I bought a basket of ripe figs; sitting down on a bench we ate them together. All round us was stir and bustle. Farmers in their broad straw-hats were unyoking oxen while women spread the wares. “Fiesole, there’s just one thing I want to say to you, after which I’ll never mention it.” “I know what it is. I’ve thought it all out.” “Are you sure you have? Of course no one may ever know. But if by some chance they should find out, are you sure that you think it’s worth while?” “Reckoning the cost again!” she laughed, helping herself to another fig. “I’ll pay gladly. It’s you I’m considering,” I said seriously.