"You may go now, Pepita," said the girl.
The maid threw a lace shawl over the shoulders of her mistress, and
departed.
The Prince leaned over the balcony and whispered, "Signorina."
The startled girl looked up and down the street, and then at the
balcony which stood out against the opalescent sky, the tracery of
ironwork showing like delicate etching on the luminous background.
She flushed and dropped her eyes, making no reply.
"Signorina," repeated the Prince, "I, too, am an exile. Pardon me. It
is in remembrance of our lovely city;" and with that he lightly flung
the bouquet, which fell at her feet on the floor of the balcony.
For a few moments the girl did not move nor raise her eyes; then she
cast a quick glance through the open window into her room. After some
slight hesitation she stooped gracefully and picked up the bouquet.
"Ah, beautiful Venice!" she murmured with a sigh, still not looking
upwards.
The Prince was delighted with the success of his first advance, which
is always the difficult step.
Evening after evening they sat there later and later. The acquaintance
ripened to its inevitable conclusion--the conclusion the Prince had
counted on from the first.
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