There is a little gallery in the hall, that looks down on the spot where the bier stood; here was I on this evening, and with me Queen Flavia.

We were alone together, and together we saw beneath us the calm face of the dead man.

He was clad in the white uniform in which he had been crowned; the ribbon of the Red Rose was across his breast.

His hand held a true red rose, fresh and fragrant; Flavia herself had set it there, that even in death he might not miss the chosen token of her love.

I had not spoken to her, nor she to me, since we came there.