'
'Thanks,' answered Andrea, nothing loath. On the Corso they were obliged
to proceed very slowly, the whole roadway being taken up by a seething,
tumultuous crowd. From the Piazza di Montecitorio and the Piazza Colonna
came a perfect uproar that swelled and rose and fell and rose again,
mingled with shrill trumpet-blasts. The tumult increased as the gray
cold twilight deepened. Horror at the tragedy enacted in a far-off land
made the populace howl with rage; men broke through the dense crowd
running and waving great bundles of newspapers. Through all the clamour,
the one word Africa rang distinctly.
'And all this for four hundred brutes who had died the death of brutes!'
murmured Andrea, withdrawing his head from the carriage window.
'What are you saying!' cried the Princess.
At the corner of the Chigi palace the commotion assumed the aspect of a
riot. The carriage had to stop. Elena leaned forward to look out, and
her face emerging from the shadows and lighted up by the glare of the
gas and the reflection of the sunset seemed of a ghastly whiteness, an
almost icy pallor, reminding Andrea of some head he had seen before, he
could not say where or when--in some gallery or chapel.
'Here we are,' said the Princess, as the carriage drew up at last at the
Palazzo Fiano. 'Good-bye--we shall meet again at the Angelieris' this
evening.
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