THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. 399 eyes and her eager-looking nose ; a flush, had come into each of her cheeks. " Ah, that's very pretty c'est bien gentil ! " she said. " Isu'fc that what they call friendship 1 " " I don't know what they call it. I thought I had better come," " She is very happy she is very fortunate," the Countess went on. " She has others besides." And then she broke out, passionately. " She is more fortunate than I ! I am as unhappy as she I have a very bad husband ; he is a great deal worse than Osmond. And I have no friends. I thought I had, but they are gone. No one would do for ine what you have done for her." Henrietta was touched ; there was nature in this bitter effu- sion. She gazed at her companion a moment, and then " Look here, Countess, I will do anything for you that you like. I will wait over and travel with you." "Never mind," the Countess answered, with a quick change of tone ; " only describe me in the newspaper ! " Henrietta, before leaving her, however, was obliged to make her understand that she could not give a fictitious representation of her journey to Rome. Miss Stackpole was a strictly veracious reporter. On quitting the Countess she took her way to the Lung' Arno, the sunny quay beside the yellow river, wheie the bright-faced hotels familiar to tourists stand all in a row. She had learned her way before this through the streets of Florence (she was very quick in such matters), and was therefore able to turn with great decision of step out of the little square which forms the approach to the bridge of the Holy Trinity. She proceeded to the left, towards the Ponte Vecchio, and stopped in front of one of the hotels which overlook that delightful structure. Here she drew forth a small pocket-book, took from it a card and a pencil, and, after meditating a moment, wrote a few words. It is our privilege to look over her shoulder, and if we exercise it we may read the brief query " Could I see you this evening for a few moments on a very important matter 1 " Henrietta added that she should start on the morrow for Rome. Armed with this little document she approached the porter, who now had taken up his station in the doorway, and asked if Mr. Goodwood were at home. The porter replied, as porters alwa^ s reply, that he had gone out about twenty minutes before ; whereupon Henrietta presented her card and begged it might be handed to him on his return. She left the inn and took her course along the quay to the severe portico of
