The Heart of Rome

The Heart of Rome, by Francis
Marion Crawford

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Title: The Heart of Rome
Author: Francis Marion Crawford

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THE HEART OF ROME
A Tale of the "Lost water"
BY FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD Author of "Cecilia,"
"Saracinesca," "In the Palace of the King," Etc.

THE HEART OF ROME
CHAPTER I

The Baroness Volterra drove to the Palazzo Conti in the heart of Rome
at nine o'clock in the morning, to be sure of finding Donna Clementina
at home. She had tried twice to telephone, on the previous afternoon,
but the central office had answered that "the communication was
interrupted." She was very anxious to see Clementina at once, in order
to get her support for a new and complicated charity. She only wanted
the name, and expected nothing else, for the Conti had very little ready

money, though they still lived as if they were rich. This did not matter
to their friends, but was a source of constant anxiety to their creditors,
and to the good Pompeo Sassi, the steward of the ruined estate. He
alone knew what the Conti owed, for none of them knew much about it
themselves, though he had done his best to make the state of things
clear to them.
The big porter of the palace was sweeping the pavement of the great
entrance, as the cab drove in. He wore his working clothes of grey linen
with silver buttons bearing the ancient arms of his masters, and his
third best gold-laced cap. There was nothing surprising in this, at such
an early hour, and as he was a grave man with a long grey beard that
made him look very important, the lady who drove up in the open cab
did not notice that he was even more solemn than usual. When she
appeared, he gave one more glance at the spot he had been sweeping,
and then grounded his broom like a musket, folded his hands on the end
of the broomstick and looked at her as if he wondered what on earth
had brought her to the palace at that moment, and wished that she
would take herself off again as soon as possible.
He did not even lift his cap to her, yet there was nothing rude in his
manner. He behaved like a man upon whom some one intrudes when he
is in great trouble.
The Baroness was rather more exigent in requiring respect from
servants than most princesses of the Holy Roman Empire, for her
position in the aristocratic scale was not very well defined.
She was not pleased, and spoke with excessive coldness when she
asked if Donna Clementina was at home. The porter stood motionless
beside the cab, leaning on his broom. After a pause he said in a rather
strange voice that Donna Clementina was certainly in, but that he could
not tell whether she were awake or not.
"Please find out," answered the Baroness, with impatience. "I am
waiting," she added with an indescribable accent of annoyance and
surprise, as if she had never been kept waiting before, in all the fifty
years of her more or less fashionable life.

There were speaking-tubes in the porter's lodge, communicating with
each floor of the great Conti palace, but the porter did not move.
"I cannot go upstairs and leave the door," he said.
"You can speak to the servant through the tube, I suppose!"
The porter slowly shook his massive head, and his long grey beard