The Heart of Rome | Page 6

had seen
the frock only a day or two ago, and it belonged to Sabina Conti.
A very fair young girl was kneeling in the shadow, crouching over
something on the floor. Her hair was like the pale mist in the morning,
tinged with gold. She was very slight, and as she bent down, her
slender neck was dazzling white above the collar of her frock. She was
trembling a little.
"My dear Sabina, what has happened?" asked the Baroness Volterra,
leaning over her with an audible crack in the region of the waist.

At the words the girl turned up her pale face, without the least start of
surprise.
"It is dead," she said, in a very low voice.
The Baroness looked down, and saw a small bunch of yellow feathers
lying on the floor at the girl's knees; the poor little head with its
colourless beak lay quite still on the red carpet, turned upon one side,
as if it were resting.
"A canary," observed the Baroness, who had never had a pet in her life,
and had always wondered how any one could care for such stupid
things.
But the violet eyes gazed up to hers reproachfully and wonderingly.
"It is dead."
That should explain everything; surely the woman must understand.
Yet there was no response. The Baroness stood upright again, grasping
her parasol and looking down with a sort of respectful indifference.
Sabina said nothing, but took up the dead bird very tenderly, as if it
could still feel that she loved it, and she pressed it softly to her breast,
bending her head to it, and then kissing the yellow feathers. When it
was alive it used to nestle there, almost as it lay now. It had been very
tame.
"I suppose a cat killed it," said the Baroness, wishing to say something.
Sabina shook her head. She had found it lying there, not wounded, its
feathers not torn--just dead. It was of no use to answer. She rose to her
feet, still holding the tiny body against her bosom, and she looked at
the Baroness, mutely asking what had brought her there, and wishing
that she would go away.
"I came to see your sister," said the elder woman, with something like
apology in the tone.

Sabina was still very pale, and her delicate lips were pressed together,
but there were no tears in her eyes, as she waited for the Baroness to
say more.
"Then I heard the bad news," the latter continued. "I heard it from the
porter."
Sabina looked at her quietly. If she had heard the bad news, why had
she not gone away? The Baroness began to feel uncomfortable. She
almost quailed before the pale girl of seventeen, slender as a birch
sapling in her light frock.
"It occurred to me," she continued nervously, "that I might be of use."
"You are very kind," Sabina answered, with the faintest air of surprise,
"but I really do not see that you could do anything."
"Perhaps your mother would allow you to spend a few days with me--
until things are more settled," suggested the Baroness.
"Thank you very much. I do not think she would like that. She would
not wish me to be away from her just now, I am sure. Why should I
leave her?"
The Baroness Volterra did not like to point out that the Princess Conti
might soon be literally homeless.
"May I ask your mother?" she enquired. "Should you like to come to
me for a few days?"
"If my mother wishes it."
"But should you like to come?" persisted the elder woman.
"If my mother thinks it is best," answered Sabina, avoiding the
Baroness's eyes, as she resolutely avoided answering the direct
question.
But the Baroness was determined if possible to take in one of the

family, and it had occurred to her that Sabina would really be less
trouble than her mother or elder sister. Clementina was the eldest and
was already looked upon as an old maid. She was intensely devout, and
that was always troublesome, for it meant that she would insist upon
going to church at impossibly early hours, and must have fish-dinners
on Fridays. But it would certainly be conferring a favour on the
Princess to take Sabina off her hands at such a time. The devout
Clementina could take care of herself. With her face, the Baroness
reflected, she would be safe among Cossacks; besides, she could go
into a retreat, and stay there, if necessary. Sabina was quite different.
The Princess thought so too, as it turned out. Sabina took the visitor to
her mother's door, knocked, opened and then went away, still pressing
her dead canary to her bosom, and infinitely glad to be alone with it at
last.