Blair got his crush hat and cloak, and approaching the prince, bowed low, then, with a general salutation, he left the room.
It was a lovely night, and the air blew upon his brow refreshingly, after the heat of the salon.
He paused outside the great doorway, and stood looking up at the sky—it was probable that it was the last time he would have the opportunity of seeing the stars.
Then he drew his cloak round him, and was going onward, when a woman, who had been coming down the street with her head bent and her face almost hidden in the thin shawl she hugged round her, stopped, and seeing him, held out her hand, murmuring something in broken Italian.
Blair stopped and looked at her absently; then he started, and taking her arm, drew her near a lamp.
"Lottie!" he said.
She flung her hands before her face and bent her head, almost as if she expected him to strike her.
The gesture amazed Blair.
"Lottie, Lottie!" he said, encouragingly; "it is you, then? I saw you this evening in the streets, my poor girl. But why do you shrink from me? What is the matter? Don't you know me—Blair?"