s and glory. We are simple
folks you know,--peasants all,--but our hearts, Signor, they are
hospitable, and such as we have we will gladly give you. What do you say
to the bay of Naples, and oranges for our luncheon day after tomorrow?"
And Mae laughed lightly and joyously. Her little burnt taper fell to
the ground, and she clasped her hands together. "What a happy thing life
will be!"

"Will you live there and be a peasant forever?" asked Bero, leaning
forward. "There are villas by the sea, too, Signorina."

Mae didn't hear these last words. Her heart had stood still on that
"forever." Live there forever, forever, and never see her mother or
Eric, or,--or any one again! "I hadn't thought of that," she said,
"I hadn't thought of that." She stood still with her hands clasped,
thinking. The officer at her side, looking down at her, was thinking
also. He was fighting a slight mental struggle, a sort of combat he was
quite unused to. Should he let the child go on in this wild freak? He
knew the cottage by the sea; the peasant home would be dreadful to her.
He knew that by that same day after to-morrow, life in lower Italy, with
the dirty, coarse people about her would be a burden. Yet he hesitated.
He fought the battle in this way: Should he not stand a better chance
if he let her go? He had his leave of absence for three weeks (this was
true; "ordered to Naples," he had called it to Mae). Three weeks away
from his world, near this winsome, strange, magnetic little being,
with the bay of Naples, and moonlight, and his own glories and her
loveliness! He couldn't give up this chance. No, no. He would surely see
her in a few hours after her troubles began, and comfort her. So he only
smiled quietly down at her again, as she stood troubled by his side, and
said: "Lisetta will seek you near your balcony if she knows where it is.
Don't be troubled."

"But where is my balcony?" asked Mae.

"Come here," said Bero, leading her slightly forward. She looked up and
saw the quiet side-window, where day after day the officer had flung
her the sweet flowers when no one was looking. "I know this place very
well," he said meaningly. Mae smiled a little cheerfully. "You have
beautiful taste," she replied, "I have never seen such exquisite
bouquets before."

Bero stroked his moustaches complacently. "You honor me, Signorina. I
hope you may receive many, many more beautiful flowers--from the same
hand." He whispered these last words, and