In the gayest mood next day she showed the doctor a little package of letters to different persons in the city, but said that she was not ready yet to let these distinguished ones know of her arrival; she must first attend to various important things. He derived from her words that she wished to make her establishment more elegant, and became gruff and severe when she asked him to procure for her the address of the most fashionable mantua--maker. She almost cried when he forbade the expense of any precious energy on worldly vanities, but was half consoled by his promise soon to make her well enough to employ a master in the art of playing the guitar. He prescribed a daily drive in the sunniest hour. Paula came back from her first excursion with flushed cheeks. Veronika grumbled: "I will tell the doctor, and he will forbid your going out at all. It is not to kneel in damp churches will help you. You might as well take up your abode in the cellar." "Don't scold me," said Paula, gently. "I had to thank God." Towards sunset she seated herself on the balcony wrapped in fleecy white, and looked down the street towards the Jeweller's Bridge. She saw Prospero come. But he did not look up. That night again she heard him play. Many times she sat on the balcony and saw Prospero coming. Sometimes he looked up, but oftener he passed into the house unaware of a Countess gazing after him from above. Some nights he did not play; those were restless, disappointed nights for her. Once or twice she met him on the stairs as she was going to her carriage; he glanced at her with an unimpressed eye, then looked elsewhere, standing against the wall, hat in hand. Occasionally she saw him in the street, but he seemed never to see her. A vague heartache grew out of those occasions. The Italian spring deepened in warmth and color; the air had a fragrance, some days, as of lilacs; other days, more penetrating, as of hyacinths. The little hills in the midst of which Florence lies took on dewy morning hues of the opal, changing evening tints of the dark dove's neck. The pure noon light made the statues in the King's Garden, where Paula walked sometimes, look dazzlingly white against the sombre walls of clipped laurel. The open country now was full of blossoming fruit trees; Paula often begged Veronika to alight from the carriage and gather for her the flowers she saw shining in the grass--primroses and violets, tulips, narcissi, fleurs-de-lis. She brought home immense nosegays, which she spent long minutes breathing; this perfume of Italy went to her brain.