The sun was the sun no longer, life was not life any more.
The grand stand was rapidly refilling; the signal for the third race was about to be given.

The ladies stood up on their seats.

A murmur ran along the tiers like a breeze over a sloping garden.

The bell rang.

The horses started like a flight of arrows.
'I shall ride in your honour, Donna Ippolita,' said Andrea Sperelli as he look leave of her to get ready for the next race, which was for gentlemen riders--'_Tibi, Hippolyta, Semper!_' She pressed his hand warmly for luck, never remembering that Giannetto Rutolo was also among the competitors.