like pleasure in the conversation of them all. What delighted him
in the one was not what charmed him most in the next, but the
equilibrium of satisfaction was well maintained between the dark
and the fair, the silent beauty and the pretty woman of
intelligence. There was indeed one whom he thought more noble in
heart and grander in symmetry of form and feature, and stronger in
mind than the rest; but she was immeasurably removed from the
sphere of his possible devotion by her devoted love of her
husband, and he admired her from a distance, even while speaking
with her.

As he passed the Apollo theatre and ascended the Via di Tordinona
the lights were beginning to twinkle in the low doorways, and the
gas-lamps, then a very recent innovation in Rome, shone out one by
one in the distance. The street is narrow, and was full of
traffic, even in the evening. Pedestrians elbowed their way along
in the dusk, every now and then flattening themselves against the
dingy walls to let a cab or a carriage rush past them, not without
real risk of accident. Before the deep, arched gateway of the
Orso, one of the most ancient inns in the world, the empty wine-
carts were getting ready for the return journey by night across
the Campagna, the great bunches of little bells jingling loudly in
the dark as the carters buckled the harness on their horses'
backs.

Just as Gouache reached this place, the darkest and most crowded
through which he had to pass, a tremendous clatter and rattle from
the Via dell' Orso made the hurrying people draw back to the
shelter of the doorsteps and arches. It was clear that a runaway
horse was not far off. One of the carters, the back of whose