The Prince had now a full view of her lovely face, as the girl rested her elbow on the railing of the balcony, and her cheek upon her hand.
"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.