” She replied. . The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. ” There was a moment’s silence. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. It was painful to want him so much. "Tell me that, and I will believe you. “I am sorry.
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