s be with him, and he would
make her forget all. But he had not come yet, and while she waited her
tears flowed quietly and sadly for all that was no more to be hers, but
most of all because she had broken a high and solemn promise which had
been the foundation of her life. In the old dream, when the Vestals were
dismissed from their office each to her own home, she was the most
faithful of them all, to the very end. But now she had been the very
first to yield, and they had put her out of their midst, sadly and
silently, to wait alone in the night for him she loved. So she waited
and wept, and the night wind seemed to freeze the salt tears on her face
and neck; yet he did not come.

Then she heard his step; but she was wakened by the soft sound of the
latch bolt of her door in its socket, and she sprang to her feet,
straight and white, with a little sharp cry, for the fancied sound had
always frightened her as nothing else could. This time she had not
turned the key, and the door opened.

"Did I startle you, child?" asked her mother's voice, kindly. "I am
sorry. Signor Lamberti is in the drawing-room. I think you had better
come. He has heard of the article in the _Figaro_, and is reading it
now."

"I will come in a minute, mother," Cecilia answered, turning her face
away. "Let me slip on my frock."

"It is only Signor Lamberti," the Countess observed, rather
thoughtlessly. "But I will send you Petersen."

The door was shut again, and Cecilia heard her mother's tripping
footsteps on the glazed tiles in the corridor. She knew that she had
blushed quickly, for she had been taken unawares, but the room was
darkened and her mother had noticed nothing. She was suddenly aware that
her cheeks and her neck were wet, and she remembered what she had dreamt
and wondered that her tears should have been real. She had let in more
light now and she looked at herself in the glass with curiosity, for she
did not remember to have cried since she had been a little girl. The
dried tears gave her face a stained and spotted look she did not like,
and she made haste to bathe it in cold water. Even the near-sighted
Petersen might see something unusual, and she would not let Lamberti
guess that she had been crying on that day of all days.

It was all very strange, and while she dressed she wondered still why
the real tears had come, and why she had dreamt she had broken her vow.
She had never dreamt that before, not even when she used t