takes, and sends them into Palermo—the heads you know—with lemons in their mouths like boars; isn't it horrible? And Della Rocca intends going up after the monster in his very fastnesses upon the mountains! Fancy that beautiful head of his!——— Really, dear, you do look very ill: when will you go to London?"
"Oh, some time next week."———
She went to the window and opened it; the room swam round her, the sounds of the streets grew dull upon her ears.
"I wish you wouldn't go till after the races," said Madame Mila, placidly. "I mean to stay. The place is really very nice, though one does see the same people too often. Fancy poor Paolo ending like John the Baptist—the head in the charger, you know—I wonder you let him go, for you had a great deal of influence over him, and say what you like, the Spiffler girl would have been better. How can you keep that window open, with the tramontana blowing?—thanks so much for lending me the horses—goodness! what is the matter?"
Madame Mila paused frightened; for the first
