"Why did you come to Rome?" she questioned curtly. "To remind us of these trifles,—and incidentally to dispossess us of our time-honoured rights and power?"
Otto shook his head.
"I came not to Rome to deprive the Romans of their own,—rather to restore to them what they have almost forgotten—their glorious past."
"It is useless to remind those who do not wish to be reminded," she replied. "The avalanche of centuries has long buried memory and ambition in those you are pleased to call Romans. Desist, I beg of you, to pursue a phantom which will for ever elude you, and return beyond the Alps to your native land!"
"And Stephania prefers this request?" Otto faltered, turning pale.
"Stephania—the consort of the Senator of Rome."
There was a pause.
Through the overhanging branches glimmered the pale disk of the moon. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of the trees. There was a hushed breathlessness in the air. Fantastic, dream-like, light and shadows played on the majestic tide of the Tiber, and all over the high summits of the hills mysterious shapes, formed of purple and gray mists, rose up and crept softly downward, winding in and out the valleys, like wandering spirits, sent on some hidden, sorrowful errand.
Gazing up wistfully, Stephania saw the look of pain in Otto's face.
"I ask what I have," she said softly, "because I know the temper of my countrymen."