“If you fear for her happiness, why not warn her?” asked Aubrey.

“Warn her against the one creature she loves in the world?” said the Princesse, “Thanks very much!  I would rather not.  She would never speak to me again, and I should lose every chance of comforting or helping her when affliction comes—­as of course it is bound to come!  Each individual man or woman makes his or her own life,—­we poor ‘friends’ can only stand and look on, waiting till they get into the muddle that we have always foreseen, and then doing our best to drag them out of it; but God Himself I think, could not save them from falling into the muddle in the first place.  As for Sylvie, I have advised her to leave Rome and go back to Budapest at once.”

Aubrey started.

“Why?”

“Why?  Can you ask?  Because she is misjudged here on account of Fontenelle’s death, and calumniated and wronged; because the women hate her for her beauty and wealth, and the men hate her too because she will not flatter them by accepting their ridiculous attentions.  She will be much happier in her own home,—­such a grand old castle it is!—­a cluster of towers and broad battlements, with purple mountains in the background, and tall pine-trees everywhere . . .”

“It must be lonely for her!” said Aubrey quickly, “She is so mignonne—­so caressable—­so made for love and care and tenderness—­” Here he broke off, vexed with himself for having said so much,—­and his face flushed warmly.  The Princesse stopped in her walk and looked at him straightly.

“Mr. Leigh,” she said, “I think—­I hope you are an honest man!  And do you know the best advice I can give you?”

He answered no word, but his eyes questioned her meaning.

“Remain honest!” she said, smiling an answer to his look, “Be true to your own instincts and highest impulses.  Do not allow yourself to be swayed by opinion or rumour; stand clear of both,—­and treat even a woman as you would treat a man!—­squarely—­candidly—­faithfully!”

She moved on and rejoined her companions, and Aubrey followed.  The Comtesse Hermenstein’s carriage was waiting for her, and the Comtesse herself was just entering it with Angela Sovrani as he came up.

“Good-bye, Mr. Leigh,” she said gently, extending her hand, “I may not see you again perhaps.  I am going home to Buda this week.”

“Must you go?” he asked, looking earnestly into the lovely eyes, lovelier than ever in their present sorrowful languor.

“I think so,” she answered, “I may wait to see Angela’s great picture, but—­”

“Do not hurry your departure,” said Aubrey, speaking in a softer tone—­“Tell me—­may I come and see you this evening,—­just for a few moments?”

His eyes rested on her tenderly, and at the passion of his glance her own fell.

“If you like—­yes,” she murmured.  And just then the Princesse D’Agramont approached.

“May I drive you home, Mr. Leigh?” she asked.