last appeared a little
murmur of satisfaction ran through the courtly throng, quite different
in tone from the hum of conversation that had preceded it; and as he
looked down the great singer saw many acquaintances who made signs of
greeting to him, and the ex-Queen waved her painted fan high in the air,
while a sprightly little Neapolitan duchess, who was in Rome for a visit
and had known him a long time, actually blew him a kiss from the tips of
her small gloved fingers. He smiled gravely, nodded once or twice, and
disappeared behind the other singers.

From the other side of the balcony, where it ran round the organ to the
rickety wooden steps, his gaze searched the distance, looking for
Ortensia; and at last he saw her on the outskirts of the crowd of common
people and peasants, leaning against the corner of the third pilaster
from the main entrance on his left as he looked down the church. His
eyes were good, and, besides, though she wore a large veil exactly like
that of many of the other ladies, he was sure it was she because
Cucurullo was beside her, unmistakable by his deformity, even at that
distance and in the shadow that darkened the nave below. Stradella had a
roll of music in his hand and, looking towards his wife, he held it
above his head for a signal; he immediately saw her raise her hand and
wave it a little, and Cucurullo held up his broad hat too. They had seen
him and he was satisfied; and at that moment the Canons reached the end
of the last psalm, and Stradella joined in the Gloria that followed it,
still standing where he was and looking at Ortensia in the distance. He
let his voice ring out to her, as different in tone from all the other
voices in the loft as strings are different from wood and brass
instruments, and every syllable he sang reached her ear; and now she
raised her hand again to show that she had heard him, and he held up his
little roll of music to return her signal, and then went to the front of
the organ to direct the concerted piece that was to follow.

If there had been time, he would have stopped and looked back again, for
as he turned he had the impression, without the certainty, that Trombin
and Gambardella were standing at the edge of the crowd on the other side
of the nave from Ortensia. She had told him of the step Cucurullo had
taken, and he had not blamed his man; on the contrary, the thought that
the two Bravi were perhaps near her now was comforting, and he wished
t