One day the little maid did not appear on her balcony, and for several days I saw nothing of her; and although I threw my flowers as usual, no flower came to keep it company.  However, after a time, she reappeared, dressed in black, and crying often, and then I knew that the poor child’s mother was dead, and, as far as I knew, she was alone in the world.  The flowers came no more for many days, nor did she show any sign of recognition, but kept her eyes on her work, except when she placed her handkerchief to them.  And opposite to her was the old lady’s chair, and I could see that, from time to time, she would lay down her work and gaze at it, and then a flood of tears would come to her relief.  But at last one day she roused herself to nod to me, and then her flower came, day by day, and my flower went forth to join it, and with varying fortunes the two flowers sailed away as of yore.

But the darkest day of all to me was when a good-looking young gondolier, standing right end uppermost in his gondola (for I could see him in the flesh), worked his craft alongside the house, and stood talking to her as she sat on the balcony.  They seemed to speak as old friends—­indeed, as well as I could make out, he held her by the hand during the whole of their interview which lasted quite half an hour.  Eventually he pushed off, and left my heart heavy within me.  But I soon took heart of grace, for as soon as he was out of sight, the little maid threw two flowers growing on the same stem—­an allegory of which I could make nothing, until it broke upon me that she meant to convey to me that he and she were brother and sister, and that I had no cause to be sad.  And thereupon I nodded to her cheerily, and she nodded to me, and laughed aloud, and I laughed in return, and all went on again as before.

Then came a dark and dreary time, for it became necessary that I should undergo treatment that confined me absolutely to my bed for many days, and I worried and fretted to think that the little maid and I should see each other no longer, and worse still, that she would think that I had gone away without even hinting to her that I was going.  And I lay awake at night wondering how I could let her know the truth, and fifty plans flitted through my brain, all appearing to be feasible enough at night, but absolutely wild and impracticable in the morning.  One day—­and it was a bright day indeed for me—­the old woman who tended me told me that a gondolier had inquired whether the English signor had gone away or had died; and so I learnt that the little maid had been anxious about me, and that she had sent her brother to inquire, and the brother had no doubt taken to her the reason of my protracted absence from the window.