Andrea,--music, and pomp, and beautiful ceremony, and before the
altar, a woman in her bridal robes, with heavily figured lace falling
over her black hair and white forehead, and against her soft cheeks and
shoulders. Her great brown eyes have thrown away the mist of sadness
for a luminous wedding veil of joy, and she is Lillia, and by her side,
erect, proud, glorious, with a lingering ray of light falling on his
golden head, is her happy husband, Bero. They stand before the altar
of St. Andrea's. "God bless you," says Mae aloud. Then her gaze wanders
back to the coral and mosaic shops below in the street, and up across to
the opposite window, where a long-haired, brown-moustached, brown-eyed
man leans, puffing smoke from his curved lips, and holding his cigarette
in his slender fingers. She meets his gaze now, as she has met it
before. "He is wondering what life will bring to these two young people,
I fancy," says Mae.
"Our own wedding-day, Mae," Norman replies; and they both forget all
about Lillia, and Bero, and the stranger, and suddenly leave the window.
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