“The dinner was delightful,” she said, at length, moving from him. “There is much to do to-morrow, and I shall retire early. You have your occupations, no doubt. For your many kindnesses I thank you.” She disengaged her hand and wished him good-night, all with an admirable effect of significance, tempered by well-bred dignity: but the peasant cunning that was in his blood asserted itself. Even while she spoke he bowed again and again, with an insinuating air of comprehension, and instead of returning her good-night he offered an “Au revoir, eh?” to which Hera gave no response. He followed her with his eyes, foolishly believing that she might pause at the threshold and look back. When she had passed from the room and he could see her no longer, but heard still the quick rustle of silk, he moved to another point of view, and watched her retreating figure until it disappeared at a door, where a maid waited, far down the mirrored passage. It was the entrance to that regal chamber whither he had conducted her a few hours before and proclaimed with plebeian delight--on the authority of Donna Beatrice--that it was a part of the private suite occupied by many dukes and duchesses of her house and in times yet older by the rulers of Milan, for the Barbiondi had given the free city seven of its lords. The couch was modern, but its tester and rich hanging of tapestries, though new from the loom, retained the genius of the past in pattern and phase of colour. And yonder the lord was wont to repose, in a chamber likewise beautiful, set apart by a mid-room, and beyond this a door of mahogany, embellished with Madonnas and saints and cherubs, carved for the glory of God by Fra Pandole, famed for his pictures in wood. Presently the reflection of Tarsis passed from one to another of the corridor mirrors and he entered the bed-chamber of the Barbiondi lords. He found his valet there, busy yet with his task of unpacking and putting in order. When the man had helped him into his dressing-gown and gone his way, Tarsis turned low the light and threw himself on a settle so placed as to hold in view the corridor through his half-open door. There he watched and waited, puffing a cigarette. From Via Cappuccini came the familiar sounds of a conscript’s _festa_--some newly-drafted soldier and his comrades celebrating a long-dreaded event in wine-born merriment. “Long live the army! Long live the King! Long live the people!” A minute more and Tarsis’s vigil ended. He saw Hera’s maid pass in the corridor on her way to the servants’ quarters. Then he arose and approached the door of Fra Pandole. It was closed, but his interpretations of the past hour made him blindly confident that it would yield to the turning of the knob. He was on the point of turning it when he heard the sharp click of a key in the lock, then the sound of receding footsteps.