St. Andrea
delle Frate, was it? It wasn't very far away. She could say her prayers
and repent entirely and wholly. So she dressed rapidly, singing the
familiar old Te Deum joyously all the while, and off she started.
The air was cool and clear and delicious and the street-scenes were
pretty. Mae took in everything before her as she left the house, from
the Barberini fountain to the groups of models at the corner of the
Square and the Via Felice; but she did not see, at some distance
behind her, on the opposite side of the street, the sudden start of a
motionless figure as she left the house, or know that it straightened
itself and moved along as she did, turning on to the pretty Via Sistina,
so down the hill at Capo le Case, to the church below.
She was early for vespers, and there was only the music singing in her
own happy little heart as she entered the quiet place. The contrast
between the spot, with its shrines and symbols and aids to faith, and
all that she had associated with religion, conspired to separate her
from herself and her past, and left her a bit of breathing, worshiping
life, praising the great Giver of Life.
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