Evelyn trembled visibly, but mastered her emotion, and received her royal visitor with graceful dignity. Though I perceived the Prince greatly desired my absence, I thought it wiser to remain with my friend, whose agitation I feared might be interpreted too favorably. About ten minutes after the Prince’s arrival, another ring at the bell was heard. This time a well-known voice enquired— “Is Mrs. Travers at home?” A short colloquy with the servant followed, and we heard the door of the apartment closed. I looked towards Evelyn. Her vexation was so evident that the Prince asked if she were ill, I was obliged to come to the rescue—and declared, with truth, that she had kept her room the preceding day, and was scarcely sufficiently recovered to do the honors to His Royal Highness. The Count took the hint, and paid us that time but a short visit. The moment he had quitted, the servant brought in on a small waiter, Col. Melville’s card, with P. P. C. in the corner. We questioned the man— “Did the Colonel say he would call again?” “No, signora.” “Did he state when he was leaving?” “No, signora.” “Well then, what _did_ he say?” I exclaimed, wishing to spare Evelyn the pain of asking. “The Colonel asked if the signora was alone. I told him Sna. Altezza Reale was with the signora. The signore then said, Give this card to the signora. That is all, ladies.” It was then near five, the hour of departure of the train. The servant was sent to inquire if the Colonel left that evening. He returned with the message—“_Il Colonello è partito già_”—“the Colonel is already gone.” Evelyn’s disappointment turned to anger. Her pride was offended, and she determined to punish Melville by encouraging the visits of her Royal admirer—a very dangerous game! “For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair, The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air.” Her charms and success had made our heroine many enemies, especially among her own sex, and envious tongues were busy with her fair fame. She was termed a heartless jilt, and her conduct towards Melville was commented on in the severest terms. In Italy no woman ought to permit any marked attention from one of the opposite sex, if she would preserve an unblemished reputation. The innocent frankness of my countrywomen, and of the American ladies, is liable to be sadly misconstrued by the idle and languid Italian “lions,” who lounge away their time at the doors of the different cafes, and discuss the appearance and character of the ladies, as they pass in their carriages toward the Lungo L’Arno and Cascines.