The details of this day were very like those of the last. Norman and
Eric vibrated between the Madden and Hopkins balconies; the crowd was
great; confetti and flowers filled the air; and up above it all,
circled by her crown of misty, heavy lace-work, shone out the beautiful,
wonderful face of the strange lady. She dropped smiles from under her
long black lashes and from the corners of the rare, sweet mouth over
the heads of the idlers to Mae, who looked up to catch them. There was
a resting, almost saving influence, Mae's excited soul believed, in
the strange face; and her eyes sought it constantly. She had been quite
oblivious to the friends about this beautiful stranger, but once, as
her eyes sought the Italian's, she saw her arise with a sudden flash of
light on her face, and hold out a white hand. A head bent over it, and
as it lifted itself slowly, Mae saw once more the well-known features of
the Signor Bero.

She looked down toward the street quickly and a sharp pain filled her
heart.

She had lost her only friend in Rome, so the silly girl said to herself.
If he knew that wonderful woman, and if she flashed those weary, great
eyes for him, how could he see or think of any other? Moreover, it was
very vexatious to have him there. If she smiled up at the girl, Bero
might think she was watching him, trying to attract his notice. So Mae
appeared very careless and played she did not see him at all, at all.
Yet she could not resist looking up now and then for one of the rare
smiles. They seemed like very far between "nows and thens" to Mae,
averaging possibly a distance of four minutes apart. But that is as one
counts time by steady clock-ticks, and not by heart-beats.