The grand saloon--a gorgeous chamber in marble and gold--was worthy of a royal abode. It had been known for centuries as the Atlantean chamber. Engaging the eye before all else were two rows of Atlantes supporting the ceiling on either side, all of heroic size. They were equal in number to the windows, between which they rested on pedestals of grained marble. A huge fist of each gripped a bronze candelabra of many lights. Their torsos were undraped, but the rest of them was lost in chiselled oak leaves. On the ceiling pink sea nymphs sported in silvery foam and gods and angels revelled in rosy vapours. Through the stained glass of a dome the sun flowed down upon the mellow fairness of the tessellated pavement. They all paused before a large painting. It was a vivid picture of Italy’s chief industry during the era of her free cities--men slaying one another in furious combat. Where the glory of war shone brightest--where the blood flowed fastest--there could be seen a great car, drawn by oxen, flying the standard of Milan, and bearing an altar with the host. The leather-clad warriors of the time called it their _caroccio_. Like the Israelites’ ark of the covenant, it was a rallying point in battle, and reminded the artisans that they had a church as well as a city to fight for. “It is the car of Heribert,” said Hera, for the enlightenment of Tarsis, “an Archbishop of Milan. He was of our race.” “And the inventor of the _caroccio_,” added Donna Beatrice, proudly. “And the first labour agitator. Isn’t that so?” put in Don Riccardo, keeping a straight face. “I don’t know what that is,” replied his sister. “Signor Tarsis can tell you, perhaps,” the other suggested. “A labour agitator?” Tarsis repeated. “Why, I should define him as a breeder of discontent and a foe to the public peace.” “If that definition be fair,” Hera rejoined earnestly, “Heribert was indeed a labour agitator. Undeniably he sowed discontent, but discontent against injustice.” “And what was his particular method?” asked Tarsis, smiling as if to make light of her remark and keeping his eyes on the mimic warfare. “He gave tongue to a hitherto voiceless people,” she answered, “and made them into an army, so that they were able not only to express their wrongs but to fight for their rights.” The words seemed to have a present-day meaning, and with her companions’ perception of the fact the name of Mario Forza leaped into their minds. It stirred them, one and all, to a fresh appreciation that the man she had made no secret of loving was still a prevalent force in her life; her thoughts were in sympathy with his, the colours he gave to the world were the colours in which she beheld it.