“Oh, all,” said Sylvia sighing. “That cardinal sitting on a stool like a red idol, having his clothes pulled about and arranged, and that little fat man. All!”
Teresa was half relieved, half provoked.
“Was that it?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “I thought you were interested.”
“I couldn’t bear it,” said Sylvia dolorously. “But if you really like to stay, I can go home by myself of course.”
Donna Teresa scarcely heard the words; her vigorous, somewhat impatient personality found itself every now and then brought up suddenly and unexpectedly against what could only be compared to a dead wall in her sister’s nature. She resented it, and then, as usual, smitten with remorse, and acknowledging some emotion which she was sure was more delicate and subtile than her own, began impetuously to carry out Sylvia’s wishes.
“Dear, we will go together,” she said, “only I am afraid we must get back to the big entrance. You needn’t look at poor Cardinal Simone, you know,” she added, her smile broadening as she noticed that Sylvia was indeed keeping her head carefully turned in an opposite direction. The sisters were only able to make slow way, for the throng was thick, and Teresa could never help becoming alertly interested in what was about her. She moved on, however, determinedly, until, when pushing out the heavy leathern door-pad, a man jostled her rudely, passed, and ran down the steps. Teresa, sure of what had happened to her, cried, “Oh!” and felt for her purse. It was gone. She exclaimed hastily to Sylvia, “There is Mrs Scott, join her,” and flew after the thief, who was already out of sight.
By the time she reached the corner he was not far away, and her light steps quickly overtook him. He glanced over his shoulder, hesitated, and when she exclaimed indignantly, “You have my purse!” held it out silently. Teresa caught it, but hers was not a nature to let wrong-doing go free, and she promptly appealed to the bystanders. A crowd in Rome will gather with inconceivable swiftness, so that in a moment a dozen persons were hanging round, by no means actively engaged in assisting law and order, rather, indeed, sympathising with the other side, but sufficiently amused and curious to see what would come of this accusation by a young and solitary lady, to put, for the moment, a few apparently undesigned obstacles in the way of escape. These would have soon vanished if two municipal guardie had not unexpectedly found themselves where they were wanted, and to them with instinctive though often disappointed confidence, Teresa breathlessly appealed.
“This man has just stolen my purse as I came out from San Martino,” she said.
“But the signorina holds it,” returned one of the guardie, glancing at it indifferently.
“As you see,” broke in the young man violently. “I pick up this devil of a purse in the church, the signorina pursues, I hand it to her at once, and this is how she repays me! Ecco!” and he opened his hands and looked round insolently. Teresa was becoming more angry.