And again he had to promise that he would return and have a long chat with Orlando.
Once out of doors he walked along at random.

It was barely four o'clock, and it was his idea to ramble in this wise, without any predetermined programme, through Rome at that delightful hour when the sun sinks in the refreshed and far blue atmosphere.

Almost immediately, however, he found himself in the Via Nazionale, along which he had driven on arriving the previous day.

And he recognised the huge livid Banca d'Italia, the green gardens climbing to the Quirinal, and the heaven-soaring pines of the Villa Aldobrandini.

Then, at the turn of the street, as he stopped short in order that he might again contemplate the column of Trajan which now rose up darkly from its low piazza, already full of twilight, he was surprised to see a victoria suddenly pull up, and a young man courteously beckon to him.
"Monsieur l'Abbe Froment! Monsieur l'Abbe Froment!" It was young Prince Dario Boccanera, on his way to his daily drive along the Corso.