When he was down in the streets he hailed the first cab he saw, gave the man an address in the Forum of Trajan, and climbed in under the hood, behind the dripping leathern apron, taking his umbrella with him and getting thoroughly wet, as is inevitable when one takes a Roman cab in the rain.
The Contessa was out, in spite of the weather, but Marcello asked if Aurora would see him, and presently he was admitted to the drawing-room, where she was sitting beside a rather dreary little fire, cutting a new book.

She threw it down and rose to meet him, as little outwardly disturbed as if they had seen each other constantly during the past two years.

She gave him her hand quietly, and they sat down and looked at the fire.
"It won't burn," Aurora said, rather disconsolately.

"It never did burn very well, but those horrid people who have had the apartment for two years have spoilt the fireplace altogether." "I remember that it used to smoke," Marcello answered, going down on his knees and beginning to move the little logs into a better position.
"Thank you," Aurora said, watching him.

"You won't succeed, but it's good of you to try." Marcello said nothing, and presently he took the queer little Roman bellows, and set to work to blow upon the smouldering spots where the logs touched each other.