“Huzzas”—
A hushed suspense.
Below the wall the voice of a beggar arose, persistent, haunting: “For the Love of God.... In the Name of Pity ... of Pity.”
“Of Pity,” she echoed, addressing a frail, wind-sown harebell, blue as the sky: And leaning upon the shattered glass ends, that crowned the wall, she fell to considering the future—Obedience, Solitude—death.
The troubling valse theme from Dante in Paris interrupted her meditations.
How often had they valsed it together, he and she ... sometimes as a two-step...! What souvenirs.... Yousef, Yousef.... Above the Cathedral, the crumbling clouds, had eclipsed the sun. In the intense meridian glare the thronged street seemed even as though half-hypnotised; occasionally only the angle of a parasol would change, or some bored soldier’s legs would give a little. When brusquely, from the belfry, burst a triumphant clash of bells.
Laura caught her breath.
Already?
A shaking of countless handkerchiefs in wild ovation: From roof-tops, and balconies, the air was thick with falling flowers—the bridal pair!
But only for the bridegroom had she eyes.