fairly familiar to her. The great square was in shadow; the
sunshine had come too late to strike it. Neptune was already
unsubstantial in the twilight, half god, half ghost, and his
fountain plashed dreamily to the men and satyrs who idled
together on its marge. The Loggia showed as the triple entrance
of a cave, wherein many a deity, shadowy, but immortal, looking
forth upon the arrivals and departures of mankind. It was the
hour of unreality--the hour, that is, when unfamiliar things are
real. An older person at such an hour and in such a place might
think that sufficient was happening to him, and rest content.
Lucy desired more.

She fixed her eyes wistfully on the tower of the palace, which
rose out of the lower darkness like a pillar of roughened gold.
It seemed no longer a tower, no longer supported by earth, but
some unattainable treasure throbbing in the tranquil sky. Its
brightness mesmerized her, still dancing before her eyes when she
bent them to the ground and started towards home.

Then something did happen.

Two Italians by the Loggia had been bickering about a debt.
"Cinque lire," they had cried, "cinque lire!" They sparred at
each other, and one of them was hit lightly upon the chest. He
frowned; he bent towards Lucy with a look of interest, as if he
had an important message for her. He opened his lips to deliver
it, and a stream of red came out between them and trickled down
his unshaven chin.

That was all. A crowd rose out of the dusk. It hid this