"Why does not Count Ammiani come to Rome?" said Merthyr.

"Why are we not all in Rome? Yes, why! why! We should make a carnival
of our own if we were."

"She would have escaped that horrible knife," Merthyr sighed.

"Yes, she would have escaped that horrible knife. But see the difference
between Milan and Rome, my friend! It was a blessed knife here. It has
given her husband back to her; it has destroyed the intrigues against
her. It seems to have been sent--I was kneeling in the cathedral this
morning, and had the very image crossing my eyes--from the saints of
heaven to cut the black knot. Perhaps it may be the means of sending us
to Rome."

Laura paused, and, looking at him, said, "It is so utterly impossible for
us women to comprehend love without folly in a man; the trait by which we
recognize it! Merthyr, you dear Englishman, you shall know everything.
Do we not think a tisane a weak washy drink, when we are strong? But we
learn, when we lie with our chins up, and our ten toes like stopped
organ-pipes--as Sandra says--we learn then that it means fresh health and
activity, and is better than rivers of your fiery wines. You love her,
do you not?"

The question came with great simplicity.

"If I can give a proof of it, I am ready to answer," said Merthyr, in
some surprise.

"Your whole life is the proof of it. The women of your country are