For the nonce his Highness Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein was _incognito_, and as was the case sometimes, he was passing as an English peer, about whose whereabouts, position, and estates Debrett was somewhat vague. According to that volume of volumes, Lord Nassington had let his ancestral seat in Northamptonshire, and lived in New Orleans. Therefore, his Highness had but little to fear from unwelcome inquiry. He spoke English as perfectly as he could speak German when occasion required, for to his command of languages his success had been in great measure due. Such a fine car as his had seldom, if ever, been seen in Rome. It was part of his creed to make people gossip about him, for as soon as they talked they began to tumble over each other in their endeavour to make his acquaintance. Both Garrett and Charles always had some interesting fiction to impart to other servants, and so filter through to their masters and mistresses. The story running round Rome, and being passed from mouth to mouth along the Corso, in Aregno's, in the Excelsior, and up among the idlers on the Pincio, was that that reckless devil-may-care young fellow in motor-coat and cap, smoking a cigar as he drove, had only a fortnight before played with maximums at Monte Carlo, and in one day alone had won over forty thousand pounds at roulette. The rather foppishly dressed Italians idling along the Corso--every man a born gambler--were all interested in him as he passed. He was a favourite of fortune, and they envied him his good luck. And though they wore yellow gloves and patent-leather boots they yearned for a _terno_ on the Lotto--the aspiration of every man, be he _conte_ or _contadino_. As his lordship approached the end of the long, narrow street close to the Porta del Popolo, Garrett gave him a nudge, and glancing at an oncoming carriage he saw in it two pretty dark-haired girls. One, the better looking of the pair, was about twenty-two, and wore rich sables, with a neat toque of the same fur. The other about three years her senior, wore a black hat, a velvet coat, and a boa of white Arctic fox. Both were delicate, refined-looking girls, and evidently ladies. Nassington raised his cap and laughed, receiving nods and merry laughs of recognition in return. "I wonder where they're going, Garrett?" he remarked after they had passed. "Better follow them, hadn't we?" remarked the man. A moment later, however, a humble cab passed, one of those little open victorias which the visitor to Rome knows so well, and in it was seated alone a middle-aged, rather red-faced English clergyman. His lordship and he exchanged glances, but neither recognised each other. "Good!" whispered the man at the wheel to his servant beside him. "So the Parson's arrived. He hasn't been long on the way from Berlin. I suppose he's keeping his eye upon the girls." "Trust him," laughed the chauffeur. "You sent him the snap-shot, I suppose?"