CHAPTER IX.

A Moonlight Expedition.

MRS. BERNARD had at last made up her mind to leave Rome. She resolved to travel northward, spending some time at Assisi and Perugia, and other places of interest. She hoped finally to establish herself for the hot summer months in some mountain resort in the neighbourhood of Turin. Having made her plans, she found, as most persons find on the eve of a departure from Rome, that the famous old city had laid its spell upon her, and to leave it was like parting from a friend. There were last visits to be paid and long-talked-of things to be done that would fill almost every hour of the few days that remained.

"You must pay a moonlight visit to the Coliseum before you go," Mrs. Dunton reminded her. "We have talked of it so often, yet left it to the last. Happily, the evenings are lovely now. The moon was brilliant last night. What do you say to going tonight, if we can make up a party?"

"I should like to go," said Mrs. Bernard, with more animation than she often displayed. "I feel as if I had not done my duty by the Coliseum, and now there is so little time."

"Oh, mother, may I go, too?" cried Paul eagerly. "I do so want to see the Coliseum by moonlight."

Mrs. Bernard shook her head. She was sorry the plan had been mentioned in the child's hearing.

"That is impossible, my darling," she said gently. "It would not be good for you to be out so late. Besides, you have a cold already. I can hear that you are hoarse."

"No, I'm not," said the child. "I'm not cold at all. Feel my hands how warm they are."

And indeed the little hands were very hot.

"You certainly have a cold," said his mother, "and I am afraid you are feverish. I must tell Janet to give you some medicine when she puts you to bed."

"I don't want any nasty medicine!" cried Paul impatiently. "I don't want to go to bed. Do take me to the Coliseum."

"No, dear, I cannot do that," said his mother firmly.

Paul began to cry.

"Oh, if you are going to behave like a baby, you must go to Janet," said his mother, rising to ring the bell.

Paul's sobs increased in intensity, till his nurse bore him away in a passion of tears.

"I cannot think what is the matter with him," said Mrs. Bernard, looking troubled. "He is not at all himself to-day. He would not cry like that if he were well."

"Oh, I daresay the heat has upset him," said Mrs. Dunton. "You must expect children to get out of sorts now and then."

She thought privately that Paul's mother had rather spoiled him; but it was excusable, since he was her only child and the one object of her love.

Janet also was of opinion that Paul was not well. She had hardly ever known him so fractious as he showed himself for the rest of the day. He continued to fret because he could not go to the Coliseum, and he resisted strenuously his nurse's desire to put him to bed rather earlier than usual. When at length she got him between the sheets, his perversity continued, and it was long ere he would lie still, or show any inclination to sleep.

Janet was therefore thankful when, coming to peep at him, she at last found that he had fallen asleep. But his face was deeply flushed, his breathing quick, and his appearance made her uneasy.

"I wonder if I have done the best for him," she thought. "I've a good mind to run across the Piazza and ask the English chemist."

It was nine o'clock. The moon was slowly rising above the houses. Mrs. Bernard had just driven off with her friends to the Coliseum. The chemist's shop would probably be closed; but Janet believed that she could speak to him if she rang the bell. She put on her bonnet and hurried off, glad to know that Paul was sleeping.

But Paul was less sound asleep than his nurse supposed. Scarcely had she left him when he woke, and began moving about restlessly again. A streak of bright moonlight fell across his bed. He sat up and laid his hands upon it; he was hot and thirsty. He ran to the washhandstand and drank eagerly from the bottle of water that stood thereon.

He pulled aside the window-blind and looked out. The Piazza was as light as day. Oh, the glorious moonlight! Oh, to see the Coliseum! A fascinating idea took possession of the child's fevered brain. He would go to the Coliseum; he knew the way; he was sure he could find it. He would run all the way, and get back before Janet had time to miss him.

He was in a mood to which nothing seemed impossible. He began to put on his clothes. He had never dressed himself wholly unaided, and the buttons and straps presented some difficulty. No matter; he fastened them as best he could, and the little pilot coat he dragged out of the wardrobe covered all defects. His cap lay to hand; he put it on his head and ran to the door.

No sign of Janet in the corridor. He made his way to the head of the stairs and darted down them. The hall of the hotel was deserted, for a wonder. The waiters were talking together in the dining room, and the porter had been called upstairs. If anyone saw the child, it did not occur to that person that it was strange he should be running out alone.

Paul had a sense of exultation as he ran across the Piazza in a slanting direction. The cool air was delightful and the moonlight most lovely. How surprised his mother would be to see him at the Coliseum! It did not strike him that she would call him naughty for coming. Paul had never walked to the "big wound wooin," but he had a vague idea of the direction in which it lay, though he had not the least notion how far off it was. He ran on through the narrow streets, turning corner after corner till he found himself in the Corso. The streets were full of people, nor were children lacking, for Italian children are often allowed to sit up till unheard-of hours. Paul passed along unnoticed, for no one seeing him could imagine that he was out at that hour unattended. The pavements of the Corso were so crowded on that lovely moonlight night that the child found it difficult to push his way through the people.

It was impossible to run; but he had ceased to feel like running. A terrible weariness oppressed him, and he was conscious of being both hot and cold. He thought that the Coliseum was somewhere at the end of the Corso, but he had not known before that the Corso was so long. In places nearly the whole of the pavement was occupied by people seated at little tables eating ices or drinking coffee. All seemed to be laughing and talking gaily, and the sound of their voices made little Paul feel strangely desolate. He looked into their faces, longing to see someone whom he knew. If only he could sit down for a minute; if only they would give him something to drink!

Still he pushed on, though a faint, sick feeling was beginning to creep over him, and a strange singing sounded in his ears. He came to a place where the Corso widened out into a little piazza in which stood an ancient church. The space in front of the church was bare of people. Instinctively Paul staggered towards it. One side of the steps lay deep in shadow. The child crawled up them, and sank into a dark corner beneath the portico. There he found rest at last, for consciousness forsook him.