Blanka envied him: he had mastered the mighty Colosseum and caught its likeness.

How had he set about it?
Why, naturally enough, he had climbed the giddy height and conquered the giant from above.

She resolved to come again, early the next morning, and follow his example.

With that she tore the spoiled leaves impatiently from her sketch-book, and threw them down among the thistles that sprang up everywhere between the stones of the ruin.

It was getting late, and she was forced to return to her hotel and dress for the theatre.
The way back led past the Cagliari palace, and Blanka noted with surprise that its iron shutters were open and the first story brilliantly lighted.