CHAPTER II.
Nous passons notre vie a nous forger des chaines, et a nous plaindre de les porter .-- VALTOUR.
For a long time Fay had stood on her balcony looking out towards Rome, while the remembrance of the last few months pressed in upon her.
It was a week since she had seen Michael, since he had said, "I shall not come back." And in the meanwhile she had heard that he had resigned his appointment, and was leaving Rome at once.

She had never imagined that he would act so quickly, with such determination.

She had vaguely supposed that he would send in his resignation, and then remain on.

In novels in a situation like theirs the man never really went away, or if he did he came back.

Fay knew very little of Michael, but nevertheless she instinctively felt and quailed before the conviction that he really was leaving her for ever, that he would reconstruct a life for himself somewhere in which she could not reach him, in which she would have no part or lot.