Mae turned her head half
uneasily. She looked up at the balcony. How odd it was that there, but
a few feet away, were Mrs. Jerrold, Edith, and Albert. She fancied
she could detect their voices, though she could not see them. The
Hopkins-Rae window was vacated. "The girls" were probably down on the
Corso with Eric and Norman, and Mae drew a little nearer to Bero, and
looked up half appealingly. His eyes were fixed strangely on something
or some one across the street. Mae followed their gaze, and saw upon the
opposite balcony the beautiful veiled lady. She held in her hand a long
rod tipped with a blazing taper.
"O, she is like a vestal virgin with her light, or a queen with a
sceptre," cried Mae exultingly.
"She may be the vestal virgin, but the queen is by my side," said Bero
earnestly.
Mae wished he would not talk in this way, and she tried to laugh it off.
"I have no sceptre or crown; I'm but a poor queen in my common garb."
"We'll have the coronation day after to-morrow," replied Bero, very
earnestly still.
"Tell me about her," and Mae nodded her head toward the strange lady.
"There is little to tell," said Bero, in a quiet tone. "Her brother is
well known in Rome as an artist. He lives there with his sister and an
old duenna. She wears this mysterious veil constantly, and some fanciful
people see just as mysterious a cloud resting about her life. I only
know she is strange and beautiful, and that her name is Lillia."
Yet Bero had seen this woman almost daily for six months. But he only
knew she was strange and beautiful, and that her name was Lillia.
Mae had never spoken to the veiled stranger, yet if Bero had turned upon
her and asked, "Who is she?" she would have replied: "I do not know her
name or where she lives, but I know she struggles, and despairs, and
smiles over all. And I know her suffering comes from sorrow--not from
sin." But Mae did not say all this. She only looked at the veiled lady.
Her vestal lamp had dropped for the moment, and she seemed to be gazing
far away. A fold of her heavy veil fell over her brow quite down to her
great dark eyes. They were unshaded, yet they too, seemed clouded for
the moment. "Her name is Lillia," said Mae, reassuringly to herself.
"Her name is Lillia. I am sure she is like her name." Bero smiled. Just
then Lisetta appeared.
CHAPTER XII.
Early the next morning, in the misty light, Lisetta and Mae, the latter
still in her contadina costume, left
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