There are some hours which pass like moments, so swiftly are they borne on the wings of joy. And in those hours Paul and Sara told each other a hundred little things they had quite possibly said many times before, but which had suddenly taken on a new meaning and a great tenderness. But for the most part they were silent, listening to the Music of the Heart, which was playing now in the completest harmony.
At last, however, they grew alive to the fact that the morning was very far advanced, and that they were both hungry. For, with joy be it said, both Paul and Sara were most delightfully human.
As she got up from the bench Sara looked at the bed of tulips.
“I want one of those,” she said.
Regardless of the little square board which forbade the foot of man to desecrate the grass with his tread, Paul went across to the flower-bed. He returned with a great golden tulip on a long pale green stem. He gave it to her. She looked down into the shining petal-chalice.
“I shall always love yellow tulips now,” she said.
Together they set off homewards, the Duchessa carrying the flower like a queen carrying a golden-headed sceptre.
And verily she was a queen, for she had that morning entered her kingdom—the kingdom of a man’s heart.
Of course, she went back to lunch with him at the studio, and equally, of course, there happened to be no food but bread and cheese and tomatoes. She refused to be taken to a restaurant, and Paul’s man was sent out to buy spaghetti, with which and the tomatoes and cheese Sara made a true Italian dish, cooking it on a gas stove.