CHAPTER VI
When Olive came to the atelier on the following morning Camille was not there, but the door was open and he had left a note on the table for her.
“I have had a letter from the Duchess. She is leaving Rome to-day but she wants to see me before she goes. It must be about her daughter’s portrait. I must go to her hotel, but I shall drive both ways and be back in half an hour. Wait for me.—C. M.”
Olive took off her hat and coat as usual behind the screen. She was choosing a book from the tattered row of old favourites on the shelf when she heard a step outside. She listened, thinking that it was Camille, and fearing that the commission had not been given him. It was not like him to be so silent.
“I thought you would be singing—” she stopped short.
Filippo came on into the room.
“M’sieur Michelin is out,” she said.
“So the porter told me. You do not think I want to see him. Will you come with me to Albano to-day?”
She shook her head.
“To-morrow, then. Why not?”