Part 5 (2/2)

CHAPTER IV.

A RAMBLE.

”And now, uncle George,” said Rollo, ”we'll get ready, and then the first thing that we will do, will be to go down into the dining room and get some breakfast.”

”Why, we have had our breakfast already,” said Mr. George. ”We had it at two o'clock this morning, on the Pontine Marshes.”

”O, no,” said Rollo, ”that was our supper for last night.”

”Very well,” said Mr. George, ”we will have some breakfast. You may go down and order it as soon as you are ready. I will come down by the time that it is on the table.”

”What shall I order?” asked Rollo.

”Whatever you please,” said Mr. George.

Accordingly Rollo, as soon as he was ready, went down stairs, and looking about in the entrance hall, he saw a door with the words TABLE D'HoTE, in gilt letters, over it.

”Ah,” said he to himself, ”this is the place.”

He opened the door, and found himself in a long, narrow room, which seemed, however, more like a pa.s.sage way than like a room. There was a sort of rack on one side of it for hats and coats. There were several pictures in this room, with prices marked upon them, as if they were for sale, and also a number of very pretty specimens of marble, and inlaid paper weights, and models of columns, temples, and ruins of various kinds, and other such curiosities as are kept every where in Rome to sell to visitors. Rollo looked at all these things as he pa.s.sed through the room, considering, as he examined them, whether his uncle George would probably wish to buy any of them.

One of them was a model of a column, with a spiral line of sculptures extending from the base to the summit. These sculptures represented figures of men and horses, sometimes in battle, sometimes crossing bridges, and sometimes in grand processions entering a town.

”This must be a model of some old column in Rome, I suppose,” said Rollo to himself. ”Perhaps I shall find it some time or other, when I am rambling about the streets. But now I must go and see about breakfast.”

So saying, Rollo pa.s.sed on to the end of the pa.s.sage way, where there was a door with curtains hanging before it. He pushed these curtains aside, opened the door, and went in. He found himself ushered into a dining room, with a long table extending up and down the centre of it.

There was a row of ma.s.sive columns on each side of the table, which supported the vaultings of the ceiling above. In different parts of this table there were small parties of gentlemen and ladies, engaged in taking late breakfasts.

Rollo walked down on one side of the table. There was on that side a party consisting of a lady and gentleman with two children, a girl and a boy,--all dressed in such a manner as to give them a foreign air. The gentleman was speaking to the waiter in French when Rollo pa.s.sed by the party. The boy was sitting next to one of the great pillars. These pillars were so near the table that each one of them took the place of a seat.

Rollo walked on and took his seat next beyond the pillar. Of course the pillar was between him and the boy.

In a few minutes a waiter came to ask what Rollo would have for breakfast. He asked in French. Rollo gave an order for breakfast for two. He said that his uncle would be down in a few minutes.

”Very well, sir,” said the waiter.

As soon as the waiter had gone, Rollo looked round the other way, and he saw that the other boy was peeping at him from behind the pillar. The boy laughed when he caught Rollo's eye, and Rollo laughed too. The boy seemed to be about nine years old.

A moment afterwards the boy began to peep at Rollo from behind the pillar on the back side, and then again on the front side, thus playing a sort of bo-peep. In this way, in a few minutes the two boys began to feel quite acquainted with each other, without, however, having spoken a word. They would, perhaps, have continued this game longer, but just at this moment the breakfast for the party came in, and the boy set himself at work eating a warm roll, b.u.t.tered, and drinking his coffee.

”Can you speak French?” asked Rollo,--of course speaking French himself in asking the question.

”Yes,” said the boy, ”but not very well.”

”Then,” said Rollo to himself, ”he cannot be a French boy. Perhaps he is an Italian boy.”

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