In a few hours Regina was installed in her new lodging with such belongings as she needed immediately.  Kalmon, having finished writing his letter to the Contessa, left nothing undone which could contribute to the comfort of the “lady who had arrived to consult him.”  He had a respectable old woman servant, who had been with him for years, and who came from his native town.  He took her into his confidence to some extent, and placed her in charge of Regina.  As she thought that everything he did must be right, she accepted his statement that the young gentleman who would often come to see the young lady was deeply interested in the latter’s welfare, and that, as the poor young lady had no relations, he, the Professor, had taken her under his protection while she remained in Rome.

The old servant’s name was Teresa, and she belonged to a certain type of elderly old maids who take a very kindly interest in the love affairs of the young.  She smiled, shook her head in a very mild disapprobation, and did much more than Kalmon had asked of her; for she took the very first opportunity of informing Regina that the Professor was the greatest, wisest, best, and kindest of mankind; and Regina recognised in her a loyal soul, and forthwith liked her very much.

It was late in the November afternoon when Marcello ascended the stairs and stopped before the door of the little apartment.  He realised that he had no key to it, and that he must ring the bell as if he were a mere visitor.  It was strange that such a little thing should affect him at all, but he was conscious of a sort of chill, as he pulled the metal handle and heard the tinkling of one of those cheap little bells that feebly imitate their electric betters by means of a rachet and a small weighted wheel.  It was all so different from the little house in Trastevere with its bright varnished doors, its patent locks, its smart windows, and its lovely old garden.  He wished he had not brought Regina to Via Sicilia, though Kalmon’s advice had seemed so good.  To Kalmon, who was used to no great luxury in his own life, the place doubtless seemed very well suited for a young person like Regina, who had been brought up a poor child in the hills.  But the mere anticipation of the dark and narrow entry, and the sordid little sitting-room beyond, awoke in Marcello a sense of shame, whether for himself or for the woman who loved him he hardly knew.

Old Teresa had gone out for something, and Regina opened the door herself.

CHAPTER XX

“I have come to see if you need anything,” Marcello said, when they were in the sitting-room.  “I am sorry to have been obliged to bring you to such a wretched place, but it seemed a good thing that you should be so near Kalmon.”

“It is not a wretched place,” Regina answered.  “It is clean, and the things are new, and the curtains have been washed.  It is not wretched.  We have been in worse lodgings when we have travelled and stopped in small towns.  Professor Kalmon has been very kind.  It was wise to bring me here.”