Was it a woman, or a goddess? A rainbow flame in mortal shape, a spirit of earth, air, water or fire? He saw before him a woman combining the charm of the girl with the maturity of the thirties, dark-haired, exquisitely proportioned, with clear-cut features and dark slumbrous eyes. She wore a diaphanous robe of pale silk gauze. Her wonderful arms, white as the fallen snow, were encircled by triple serpentine coils of gold. Else, she was unadorned, save for a circlet of rubies which crowned the dusky head. Her sombre eyes rested drowsily on the swarming crowds, while a smile of disdain curved the small red mouth, as her chariot proceeded through the frozen silence. Suddenly her eye caught the admiring gaze of Tristan, who had indeed forgotten heaven and earth in the contemplation of this supremest handiwork of the Creator. A word to the charioteer and the chariot came to a stop. Tristan and the woman faced each other in silence, the man with an ill-concealed air of uneasiness, such as one may experience who finds himself face to face with some unknown danger. With utter disregard for the gaping crowds which had gathered around the fountain she bent her gaze upon him, surveying him from head to foot. "Who are you?" she spoke at last, and he, confused, bewildered, trembling, gazed into the woman's supremely fair face and stammered: "A pilgrim!" Her lips parted in a smile that revealed two rows of small white, even teeth. There was something unutterable in that smile which brought the color to Tristan's brow. "A Roman?" "From the North!" "Why are you here?" "For the salvation of my soul!" He blushed as he spoke. Again the strange smile curved the woman's lips, again the inscrutable look shone in her eyes. "For the salvation of your soul!" she repeated slowly after him. "And you so young and fair. Ah! You have done some little wickedness, no doubt?" He started to reply, but she checked him with a wave of her hand. "I do not wish to be told. Do you repent?" Tristan's throat was dry. His lips refused utterance. He nodded awkwardly. "So much the worse! These little peccadillos are the spice of life! What is your name?" She repeated it lingeringly after him. "From the North--you say--to do penance in Rome!" She watched him with an expression of amusement. When he started back from her, a strange fear in his heart, a wave of her hand checked him. "Let me whisper a secret to you!" she said with a smile. He felt her perfumed breath upon his cheek. Inclining his ear he staggered away from her dizzy, bewildered. Presently, with a dazzling smile, she extended one white hand and Tristan, trembling as one under a spell, bent over and kissed it. He felt the soft pressure of her fingers and his pulse throbbed with a strange, insidious fire, as reluctantly he released it at last.