"I am so happy to fin' myself in Rome that I forget"--Madame de
Vaurigard went on--"_ever'sing!_ But now I mus' make sure not to lose
you. What is your hotel?"

"Oh, the Magnifique," Mellin answered carelessly. "I suppose everybody
that one knows stops there. One does stop there, when one is in Rome,
doesn't one?"

"Everybody go' there for tea, and to eat, sometime, but to _stay_--ah,
that is for the American!" she laughed. "That is for you who are all so
abomin-_ab_-ly rich!" She smiled to the Italian again, and both of them
smiled beamingly on Mellin.

"But that isn't always our fault, is it?" said Mellin easily.

"Aha! You mean you are of the new generation, of the yo'ng American' who
come over an' try to spen' these immense fortune'--those _'pile'_--your
father or your gran-father make! I know quite well. Ah?"

"Well," he hesitated, smiling. "I suppose it does look a little by way
of being like that."

"Wicked fellow!" She leaned forward and tapped his shoulder chidingly
with two fingers. "I know what you wish the mos' in the worl'--you
wish to get into mischief. That is it! No, sir, I will jus' take you in
han'!"

"When will you take me?" he asked boldly.

At this, the pleasant murmur of laughter--half actual and half