off belfry.

But it might rain. At the idea, Sabina laughed again. It would be very
unpleasant to be caught in a shower while napping on a bench in a
public garden. Besides, if the policemen found her there, an extremely
young lady, extremely well dressed but apparently belonging to no one,
they would in all likelihood ask her name, and she would have to tell
them who she was; and then she would be brought back to Baron
Volterra's house, unless they thought it more prudent to take her to a
lunatic asylum.

At that stage in her imaginings it was generally time to go out with
the Baroness for the daily drive, which began with the leaving of
cards and notes, then led to the country or one of the villas, and
generally ended in a turn or two through the Corso before coming home.
The worst part of the daily round was dinner when the Baron was at
home. It was then that she felt most strongly the temptation to slip
out of the house and never to come back. Often, however, he and his
wife dined out, and then Sabina was served alone by two solemn men-
servants, so extremely correct that they reminded her a little of her
old home. These were the pleasantest evenings she spent during that
spring, for when dinner was over she was free to go to her own room
and curl herself up in a big armchair with a book, and read or dream
till bedtime, as she pleased.

When she was alone, her life seemed less objectless, less inexplicably
empty, less stupidly incomprehensible, less lonely than in the company
of those excellent people with whom she had nothing in common, but to
whom she felt that she was under a great obligation. In their company,
it was as if her life had stopped suddenly at the beginning and was