She looked back at him intently and then shook her head.  “I think not!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know; I could n’t!”

During this little discussion our four friends were standing near the venerable image of Saint Peter, and a squalid, savage-looking peasant, a tattered ruffian of the most orthodox Italian aspect, had been performing his devotions before it.  He turned away, crossing himself, and Mrs. Hudson gave a little shudder of horror.

“After that,” she murmured, “I suppose he thinks he is as good as any one!  And here is another.  Oh, what a beautiful person!”

A young lady had approached the sacred effigy, after having wandered away from a group of companions.  She kissed the brazen toe, touched it with her forehead, and turned round, facing our friends.  Rowland then recognized Christina Light.  He was stupefied:  had she suddenly embraced the Catholic faith?  It was but a few weeks before that she had treated him to a passionate profession of indifference.  Had she entered the church to put herself en regle with what was expected of a Princess Casamassima?  While Rowland was mentally asking these questions she was approaching him and his friends, on her way to the great altar.  At first she did not perceive them.

Mary Garland had been gazing at her.  “You told me,” she said gently, to Rowland, “that Rome contained some of the most beautiful things in the world.  This surely is one of them!”

At this moment Christina’s eye met Rowland’s and before giving him any sign of recognition she glanced rapidly at his companions.  She saw Roderick, but she gave him no bow; she looked at Mrs. Hudson, she looked at Mary Garland.  At Mary Garland she looked fixedly, piercingly, from head to foot, as the slow pace at which she was advancing made possible.  Then suddenly, as if she had perceived Roderick for the first time, she gave him a charming nod, a radiant smile.  In a moment he was at her side.  She stopped, and he stood talking to her; she continued to look at Miss Garland.

“Why, Roderick knows her!” cried Mrs. Hudson, in an awe-struck whisper.  “I supposed she was some great princess.”

“She is—­almost!” said Rowland.  “She is the most beautiful girl in Europe, and Roderick has made her bust.”

“Her bust?  Dear, dear!” murmured Mrs. Hudson, vaguely shocked.  “What a strange bonnet!”

“She has very strange eyes,” said Mary, and turned away.

The two ladies, with Rowland, began to descend toward the door of the church.  On their way they passed Mrs. Light, the Cavaliere, and the poodle, and Rowland informed his companions of the relation in which these personages stood to Roderick’s young lady.

“Think of it, Mary!” said Mrs. Hudson.  “What splendid people he must know!  No wonder he found Northampton dull!”

“I like the poor little old gentleman,” said Mary.

“Why do you call him poor?” Rowland asked, struck with the observation.