The crowd began to break up, and the people went off singing. Rossi and
his group of friends had disappeared when Roma turned to go. She found
herself weeping and singing, too, but for another reason. The danger was
passed, and all was over!
Going out by one of the arches, she was conscious of somebody walking
beside her. Presently a voice said: "You don't recognise me in the darkness, Donna Roma?"
It was Charles Minghelli. He had been told to take care of her. Could he
offer her his escort home?
"No, thank you," she replied, and she was surprised at herself that she
experienced no repulsion.
Her heart was light, a great weight had been lifted away, and she felt a
large and generous charity. At the top of the hill she found a cab, and
as it dipped down the broad avenue that leads out of the circle of the
dead centuries into the world of living men, she turned and looked back
at the Coliseum. It was like a dream. The moving lights--the shadows of
great heads on the grim old walls--the surging crowds--the cheers from
hoarse throats. But the tinkle of the electric tram brought her back to
reality, and then she noticed that it had begun to snow.
* * * * *
Bruno ploughed a way for David Rossi, and they reached home at last.
Elena was standing at the door of David Rossi's rooms, with an agitated
face.
"Have you seen anything of Joseph?" she asked.
"Joseph?"
"I opened the window to look if you were coming, and in a moment he was
gone. On a night like this, too, when it isn't too safe for anybody to
be in the streets."
"Has he still got the clothes on?" said Bruno.
"Yes, and the naughty boy has broken his promise and must be whipped."
The men looked into each other's faces.
"Donna Roma?" said Rossi.
"I'll go and see," said Bruno.
"I must have a rod, whatever you say. I really must!" said Elena.
VII
Roma reached home in a glow of joy. She told herself that Rossi would
come to her in obedience to her command. He must dine with her to-night.
Seven was now striking on all the clocks outside, and to give him time
to arrive she put back the dinner until eight. Her aunt would dine in
her own room, so they would be quite alone. The conventions of life had
fallen absolutely away, and she considered them no more.
Meantime she must dress and perhaps take a bath. A certain sense of
soiling which she could not conquer had followed her up from that
glorious meeting. She felt a little ashamed of it, but it was there, and
though she told herself "They were his people, poor things," she was
glad to take off the clothes she had worn at the Coliseum.