I stared at him as he passed--my feelings underwent a kind of shock.

He looked perfectly happy and tranquil, happier indeed than ever I remembered to have seen him, and yet--and yet, according to HIS knowledge, I, his best friend, had died only yesterday! With this sorrow fresh upon him, he could smile like a man going to a festa, and wear a coral-pink rose, which surely was no sign of mourning! For one moment I felt hurt, the next, I laughed at my own sensitiveness.

After all, what of the smile, what of the rose! A man could not always be answerable for the expression of his countenance, and as for the flower, he might have gathered it en passent, without thinking, or what was still more likely, the child Stella might have given it to him, in which case he would have worn it to please her.

He displayed no badge of mourning?
True!--but then consider--I had only died yesterday! There had been no time to procure all those outward appurtenances of woe which social customs rendered necessary, but which were no infallible sign of the heart's sincerity.

Satisfied with my own self-reasoning I made no attempt to follow Guido in his walk--I let him go on his way unconscious of my existence.