"Oh! I love you so much Isabel! I'm so happy, Isabel."
Isabel bent down and kissed the happy face upon her bosom. As she lifted her eyes again, they fell upon the strange musician, who, disturbed by voices that he recognized, had moved toward them unnoticed.
"Who, who is this, Mary Fuller? I remember the face. No, no, it's one of Guido's heads that has bewildered me. Surely I never saw anything living like that before. It is Guido's Michael in repose. Look up, Mary, and tell me who this young man is."
Isabel spoke in a low voice, regarding the youth with a look of mingled admiration and surprise, while the tears still sparkled on her cheeks.
Mary looked up; her eyes kindled, and she smiled proudly through her tears.
"Isabel? Can't you remember something that you have seen before in his face?"
"I don't know. The memory of a picture I saw at Rome blinds me. Who is it, say?"
"Hush, Isabel! you will grow sad when I tell you. That night when you and I watched"—
"Yes," answered Isabel, drooping her head, "I shall never forget that night."
"Do you remember who was with us, Isabel?"