"Everywhere, in Florence, Rome and Naples."
"Did you see the Pope, and eat maccaroni?"
"The Pope, yes, at the feast of Corpus Christi, when he bears upon his back a gigantic sun which shines upon his mounted guardia nobile."
"And the maccaroni?"
"A horrible thing! Wearisome as is everything interminable! It is difficult to eat it gracefully."
After a pause, Olga said--
"Poor Wegen! He must have wearied for you? Have you not written to one another?"
"No," replied Cäcilie, coolly. "I do not believe in his love; daily it became more timid--any true lover has courage. He let himself be bullied by his aunts and cousins, whom I pleased but little."
"Such a good match," said Olga; "a pleasant, good-hearted man. It would be a pity!"
"You would like to have me married," said Cäcilie, while she threaded a needle. "You have your reasons for it."