a furred, frogged, and braided jacket, not to mention the high boots and spurs, or the becoming cap, was so very polite to the lone lady that she could not remain dumb without positive rudeness. So Amanda conversed in her most charming manner, finding inspiration, doubtless, in the dark eyes and musical voice of her handsome vis-à-vis, for the officers from Turin are things of beauty and joys for ever to those who love to look on manly men.
Among other things, the two had a little joke about the Baron Rothschild, who rode about Albano on a tiny donkey with two servants behind him, also the Baroness, a painfully plain woman with an ugly clog, the image of herself.
When they arrived at Rome, however, their joke was turned against them, by the discovery that the meek man was the Baron's secretary, who would doubtless repeat their chat at head-quarters. To see the handsome man slap his brow, and then laugh like a boy at the fun, was worth a longer journey, Amanda thought, as he put her into a carriage, gave her his best martial salute, and went clanking away about his own affairs.
Amanda returned at 4 p.m., and her emotions may