They walked round the cloisters first, a voyage of discovery to Miss Rawson, who looked a slim enough nymph herself in her lilac cambric frock and demure gray hat shading her big brown eyes.

Then suddenly, from across the garden in the center, she became aware that an archaic Apollo clad in modern dress had entered upon the scene, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, and her heart beat.

Martha puffed with the heat and exercise, and glanced with longing eyes at a comfortable stone bench in the shade.

“Would you like to rest here, Martha, you old dear?” Miss Rawson said.  “There is not a creature about, and I will walk round and join you from the other side.”

The Aunt Caroline’s elderly maid easily agreed to this.  It was true there did not seem to be anyone adventurous-looking, and Miss Stella would be more or less under her eye—­and she was thoroughly tired with traveling and what not.  So Stella found herself happily unchaperoned, except by Baedecker, as she strolled on.

The Russian had disappeared from view, the bushes and vases in the center of the garden plot gave only occasional chances to see people at a distance.

But when Stella had entered the Ludovici collection she perceived him to the right, gazing at the statue of the beautiful Mars.

He turned instantly, as though some one told him she was near—­and his calm eyes took in the fact that she was alone.  The small room was empty but for the two, and he addressed her as he removed his hat.

“Good morning, mademoiselle,” he said gravely.  “Mars is a strong attraction.  I knew I should presently find you here—­so when I caught sight of your spiritual outline across the garden, I came and—­waited.”

“He is most splendid-looking, is he not,” Stella returned, trying to suppress the sudden tingle of pleasure that was thrilling her, “and look how much character there is in his hands.”

“Shall we go and study the others, or shall we find a bench in the garden and sit down and talk?” Count Roumovski asked serenely, and then smiled to himself as he noticed his companion’s apprehensive glance in the direction where, far away, Martha dozed in peace.

“It would be nice out of doors—­but—­” and Stella faltered.

“Do not let us be deprived of pleasure by any buts—­there is one out there who will warn us when your maid wakes.  See—­” and he advanced toward the entrance door, “there is a bench by that rose tree where we can be comparatively alone.”

Stella struggled no more with herself.  After all, it was her last chance—­Eustace Medlicott’s train got in at five o’clock!

She had a sense of security, too, the complete serenity of her companion inspired confidence.  She almost felt she would not care if Aunt Caroline herself slept instead of the elderly maid.

There was some slight change in Count Roumovski’s manner to-day—­ he kept his eyes fixed upon her face, and the things he said were less abstract and more personal.  After an entrancing half hour she felt she had seen vivid pictures of his land and his home.  But he was a great traveler it appeared, and had not been there often in later years.