Graziosa unlatched one of the windows; it opened center-wise, and the girl stood, one hand on either leaf, the sun making her golden bright from head to foot. Before her lay Milan, the beautiful, with its trees and gardens, clear in the setting sun, that sunk, a fiery ball, behind the distant purple hills. Graziosa breathed heavily. The tower looked toward the western gate; the sun caught the roof of a little house beside it, the roof of a house and a flock of white doves that flew around it, as if looking for something they could not find. Near rose the square tower of a little church, Santa Maria Nuova.
Graziosa stepped back into the room, letting the window fall-to with a clang. Some one must come soon. With a piteous little gesture she pulled at the jeweled fastening of her stiff satin robe. For some moments her trembling fingers could not undo the great pearl clasp. At last it opened, and the yellow robe fell apart.
A rope of pearls bound her waist: with a hasty movement she undid them, and let slip the gorgeous dress, that fell stiff and gemmed onto the marble floor. Beneath was the blue robe she had worn when she first came to the palace.
With hasty fingers she pulled the ornaments from her hair, throwing them to the ground. Her long curls fell about her shoulders; a little sob shook her throat; she looked wistfully around, and sank into the chair. For a little while she sat silent, with closed eyes, panting.
Suddenly the sun sank, leaving the room dull, all the light and color gone.
Graziosa opened her eyes with a little cry.
"I am so lonely!" she whispered to herself—"so lonely. I want some one—to kiss me—good-by."
She rose and fumbled among the folds of her fallen gown; she found something small she grasped tight in her cold fingers.
"I am not brave—ah, I fear I am not brave!"
She rested her head against the arm of the chair, as if collecting herself; then, with a little smile, lifted it with a pitiful show of courage.