“She must be a Russian,” said Cæsar.
“Yes. Do you like that type?”
“She has a lot of character. She looks like one of the women that would order servants to be whipped.”
The Russian was smiling vaguely. Laura told the coachman to drive on. They made a few rounds in the avenues of the Pincio. The music was beginning; a few carriages, and groups of soldiers and seminarians, crowded around the bandstand; Laura didn’t care for brass bands, they were too noisy for her, and she gave the coachman orders to drive to the Corso.
MEETING MARCHMONT
They passed in front of the Villa Medici, and when they got near the Piazza, della Trinitá de’ Monti they met a man on horseback, who, on seeing them, immediately approached the carriage. It was Archibald Marchmont, who had just arrived in Rome.
“I thought you had forgotten us,” said Laura.
“I forget you, Marchesa! Never.”
“You say you came to Rome....”
“From Nice I had to return to London, because my father was seriously ill with an attack of gout.”