They spent another half-hour very pleasantly in chatting about Rome, Italy, and France.

Then, for a moment, they went up into Frascati where the Count wished to say a few words to a contractor, and just as three o'clock was striking they started off, seated side by side on the soft cushions and gently rocked by the motion of the victoria as the two horses broke into a light trot.

As Prada had predicted, that return to Rome across the bare Campagna under the vast limpid heavens at the close of such a mild autumn day proved most delightful.

First of all, however, the victoria had to descend the slopes of Frascati between vineyards and olive-trees.

The paved road snaked, and was but little frequented; they merely saw a few peasants in old felt hats, a white mule, and a cart drawn by a donkey, for it is only upon Sundays that the _osterie_ or wine-shops are filled and that artisans in easy circumstances come to eat a dish of kid at the surrounding _bastides_.