It was really a very beautiful thing.
'It might be the centaur copied by Donatello,' Andrea added.
And in his heart, with his admiration for the work of art, there rose up also a sincere admiration for the noble taste of the lady who now filled all his thoughts.

'What a rare creature both in mind and body!' he thought.

But the higher she rose in his imagination, the further she seemed removed from him in reality.

All the security of the preceding evening was transformed into uneasiness, and his first doubts re-awoke.
He had dreamed too much last night with waking eyes, bathed in a felicity that knew no bounds, while the memory of a gesture, a smile, a turn of the head, a fold of her raiment held him captive as in a net.
Now all this imaginary world had tumbled miserably about his ears at the touch of reality.

In Elena's eyes there had been no sign of that special greeting to which he had so ardently looked forward; she had in no wise singled him out from the crowd, had offered him no mark of favour.