Vergilius, full of his own sorrow, felt for them and gave them good time.

A little group, in gray paenula and veils, were watching from without the crowd.

He moved aside, beckoning to them.
"Make your farewells," said he, as they came near.

"We shall be off in a moment." A beautiful white hand was extended to him.

He took it in his, and then quickly pressed it to his lips.
"Farewell, dear love!" he whispered.
A quick pressure answered him, and the veiled figure turned away.