“Really?” The Princess was interested.  “I adore revolutionaries,” she said thoughtfully.  “They always have something to say.  I have always longed to meet a real anarchist.”

“Signor Malipieri is not an anarchist,” said Sabina.

“Of course not, child!  I never said he was.  All anarchists are shoemakers or miners, or something like that.  I only said that I always longed to meet one.  People who do not value their lives are generally amusing.  When I was a girl, I was desperately in love with a cousin of mine who drove a four-in-hand down a flight of steps, and won a bet by jumping on a wild bear’s back.  He was always doing those things.  I loved him dearly.”  The Princess laughed.

“What became of him?” Sabina asked.

“He shot himself one day in Geneva, poor boy, because he was bored.  I was always sorry, though they would not have let me marry him, because he had lost all his money at cards.”  The Princess sighed.  “Of course you want a lot of new clothes, my dear,” she said, changing the subject rather suddenly.  “Have you nothing but that to wear?”

Sabina’s things had not yet come from the Via Ludovisi.  She explained that she had plenty of clothes.

“I fancy they are nothing but rags,” her mother answered incredulously.  “We shall have to go to Paris in any case for your trousseau.  You cannot get anything here.”

“But we have no money,” objected Sabina.

“As if that made any difference!  We can always get money, somehow.  What a child you are!”

Sabina said nothing, for she knew that her mother always managed to have what she wanted, even when it looked quite impossible.  The girl had been brought up in the atmosphere of perpetual debt and borrowing which seemed natural to the Princess, and nothing of that sort surprised her, though it was all contrary to her own instinctively conscientious and honourable nature.

Her mother had always been a mystery to her, and now, as Sabina sat near her, she crossed her feet, which were encased in a pair of the Princess’s slippers, and looked at her as she had often looked before, wondering how such a reckless, scatter-brained, almost penniless woman could have remained the great personage which the world always considered her to be, and that, too, without the slightest effort on her part to maintain her position.

Then Sabina reflected upon the Baroness’s existence, which was one long struggle to reach a social elevation not even remotely rivalling that of the Princess Conti; a struggle in which she was armed with a large fortune, with her husband’s political power, with the most strictly virtuous views of life, and an iron will; a struggle which could never raise her much beyond the point she had already reached.

Sabina’s meditations were soon interrupted by the arrival of her belongings, in charge of her mother’s maid, and the immediate necessity of dressing more carefully than had been possible when she had been so rudely roused by the Baroness.  She was surprised to find herself so little tired by the desperate adventure, and without even a cold as the result of the never-to-be-forgotten chill she had felt in the vaults.