“Nobody will know. These men do not know English. Shall we say at ten o’clock to-night? I can get away then—not before, I fear. We have a Court dinner.”
“Very well,” he said, looking into her splendid dark eyes. “At ten o’clock then.”
“Addio—eh! Till ten o’clock?” she laughed.
“But are you sure it would not be an injudicious step—to visit a bachelor in his rooms?” he queried gravely.
“I don’t care, Signor Waldron—if you don’t. I always take every precaution. My maid, Renata, is as silent as the Sphinx we saw in Egypt. Do you remember? And how I fell off my camel?”
“Shall I ever forget those days?” he remarked as he took the outstretched hand and bowed over it. “Very well, mademoiselle—at ten o’clock.”
“Bene. Then I will explain matters. You must be terribly puzzled. I see it in your face,” she laughed.
He smiled and as he stood hat in hand the royal carriage moved off, the onlookers staring to note that the popular young Princess should have stopped and have spoken to a man, an ordinary foot-passenger on the Pincio.
For a second the diplomat glanced after her, then he turned upon his heel and began to descend the winding roadway, past those busts of all the distinguished Italians from Julius Caesar to Marin.
Before him lay that wonderful view of Rome, where beyond the Porta del Popolo and the new quarter with the Palazzo di Giustizia, on the opposite bank of the Tiber, rose the great dome of St. Peter’s from the grey mists of the sunset, while on the right stood the spire of the Church of Lourdes, the Vatican, and a portion of the Leontine wall. Away on the right rose Monte Mario with its dark funereal cypresses, while to the left of St. Peter’s could be seen the round castle of Sant Angelo with the bronze angel that crowned it. The pines on the height of the castle were familiar to him, being those of the Villa Lante on the Janiculum with the Passeggiata Margherita on which the great statue of Garibaldi was the most conspicuous object.