The duchess jumped up, cast one glance into the glass, saw the grey lock distinctly, and then forgetting that she was a princess and Nonna but a humble servant, threw her arms about her and kissed her on the mouth, above which grew so luxuriant a moustache that many a page would gladly have exchanged his young upper lip for her older one.  Then the duchess reached once more for the mirror to assure herself that her eyes had not been deceived, but her fingers trembled so with excitement that the glass slipped from her hand and fell to the floor where it broke in a thousand pieces.

What a fright it gave them!  Fortunately Nonna, after a lifetime spent in the care of babies, had laid aside what we call nerves, else she had certainly fallen in a swoon like her mistress; she was consequently able to support the duchess and soothe her with gentle words.

In the meanwhile the young architect from the staging inspected the stone which crowned the dome and found that it had been well set.  But he had no suspicion that the grey lock had grown on his head.  Older architects came and absorbed his attention.  They pressed his hand, praised him and said that he had just finished a marvellous work of art.  They examined, with him, the interior of the cathedral, and then appeared the prince for whom George had built the church, and to him the architects explained how solid and well proportioned was the dome which had been finished a few hours before.  The noble prince listened with comprehension; after he was satisfied he drew George to his breast and said:  “I thank, you my friend.  Despite your youth I entrusted you with a great undertaking and you have more than fulfilled my most sanguine expectations.  At my age we count it gain not to be disappointed, and the day when our expectations are not only fulfilled, but surpassed we number among our festivals.  Your work will be an ornament to the city and state, and will insure you undying fame.  Take this from a man who wishes you well.”

The prince took the golden chain from his own neck, hung it about George’s, and continued: 

“Art is easy, some say; others, that it is difficult.  Both are right.  It must be delightful and ennobling to design such a work but the carrying out must be laborious and attended with many perplexities.  I can see that you have found it so, for only yesterday I remarked with pleasure the youthful glint of your brown hair and today,—­no doubt while you were superintending the laying of the dome’s crown,—­a lock of hair above your left temple has turned grey, Master Peregrinus.”

George reeled at this sudden and unexpected fulfilment of the dearest wish of his soul.  He had gone out into the world under this name of Peregrinus and had never betrayed the fact that he was a prince’s son.  For several years his heart had been overflowing with love for the daughter of the prince and he had known that she reciprocated his affection sincerely, yet for the sake of his own family he had battled bravely with his passion and had borne his heartache and longing in silence.