Silvio laughed aloud in the very intoxication of his joy.
"Beloved," he said, "that is only the beginning."
But Bianca shook her head. "I must be very wicked," she said. "I did not know I was quite so wicked. Silvio," she added, looking at him, shyly, "for the love of God, go! It is getting late. At any moment they may be coming to look for me. No--not again--"
"But I must speak with you here to-morrow--the day after," urged Silvio.
"Yes," said Bianca, hurriedly. "I must think," she added. "We must confide everything now to Mademoiselle Durand. Ah, Silvio, you should not have loved me--I shall bring you unhappiness."
Silvio looked at her gravely. "If we are true to each other," he said, "everything must come right. Even if we have to wait till you are of age and free to do as you choose, that is not a very long time."
They had left the casino as Silvio was speaking, and Bianca glanced uneasily down the avenue. Not a soul was visible. The rain had cleared away, and the sun, sinking westward, was streaming into the darkest recesses of the ilex grove. No sound broke the stillness except the splashing of the fountains, and now and again the notes of birds announcing that the hot hours were passed and the cool of evening was approaching.
Bianca turned and laid her hands on Silvio's. "Go, beloved," she said. "We must not be seen together--yet."
Silvio drew her to him once more. "Do you know," he said, "that you have never told me whether you will marry me or not?"
Bianca Acorari looked at him for a moment. Then she answered, simply:
"If I do not marry you, Silvio, I will marry no man. I swear it! Now go," she added, hastily--"do not delay a moment longer. I will communicate with you through Mademoiselle Durand."
"After all," said Silvio, "even if we have to wait three years--"
"Silvio," she exclaimed, "if you do not go, now--at once--I will not marry you for six years."
She turned away from him and sped down the avenue, while Silvio vanished through the undergrowth.
And the ilex grove was left in possession of the spirits of Pan and his _Luperci_; also in that of Monsieur d'Antin, who, with a little chuckle, stepped from behind the casino and emerged into the sunlight.
Silvio and his sister were sitting alone together after a late dinner which was practically merely a supper. In the summer months in Rome, to be compelled by fashion to sit down to a meal at the pleasantest hour in all the twenty-four is a weariness to the flesh and a vexation to the spirit. Entirely in opposition to all the orthodox ideas inculcated by the guide-books and received by the British tourist, the Romans do not labor under the delusion that death stalks abroad with the sunset, and that deadly diseases dog the footsteps of those who wander through the streets or gardens when the shadows of evening are beginning to fall.