Both Madam Dormandy and the advocate signified their readiness to accompany her, the more so as a party of German visitors was planning an inspection of the Colosseum's subterranean chambers and passages, and Zimandy proposed to join them.
Blanka made it her first care, on arriving at the Colosseum, to search for the lost sketch-book leaves; but though she remembered exactly where she had dropped them, neither she nor her friend could discover the least trace of them.

Who could have appropriated them?
The artist in the gallery had been the only stranger present at the time of her previous visit.
While the advocate and Madam Dormandy went with the German party to inspect the lower regions, Blanka remained above, on the plea that such subterranean excursions made her unwell.

There were no robbers or wild beasts to molest her in the arena during the others' absence, and, besides, the entrances were all guarded.
She sat down at the foot of the cross, but not to draw, for her mind was not now on her sketch.

Plucking the dandelions that grew in profusion about her, she fashioned them into a chain and hung it around her neck.
The thought came to her, as she was thus engaged, that of all the Christian martyrs torn to pieces by wild beasts in that arena, not one of them, when the tigers and hyenas leaped upon their prey, felt such a terror as hers at sight of the monsters that seemed to be closing in about her to rend her limb from limb.
How happy the artist must be up there in the lofty gallery! For there he was, still at work on his picture.

The artist is the only really happy man.