She drew a quick breath.
From the cathedral they returned directly to the hotel.
Chapter Sixteen
IT was Genoa.
The end of all was at hand.
Rosina recollected the careless, callous manner with which in earlier, happier days she had spoken of this fated spot.
“Are you going home by the Southern Route?”
“Yes, we sail from Genoa;” or, “Do you leave at Naples?” “Oh, no, it’s Monte Carlo this time, so we shall get off at Genoa.”
Genoa!