Cyrus stepped within, slowly, as in a trance. Slowly he advanced toward Madame Francesca. She, as surprised as any of the others, regarded him in silence until he stopped before her. As they stood facing each other, the western light on both their faces, the spectators--including Ruth, now at the open window--began to marvel. Fear began to mingle with surprise, for many in the audience knew that famous beauties could be tormented by crazy lovers. But fear, in turn, gave way to wonder, for it proved a strange interview, never forgotten by those who saw it. No words were spoken. No words were needed. In the eyes that looked into his own Cyrus read their greeting as clearly as in an open book. And she, as clearly, looked deep into his heart--as she had looked into the heart of his father. Now in his responsive, eager face she saw the confirmation of his father's letters, that she had bequeathed to her child her own extraordinary faculty. It brought a sudden joy, this assurance of a perfect understanding. Each received, in full, the other's message. In the face of Cyrus--with his grandfather's drowsy eyes--she saw his happiness in this meeting. He was telling her in unspoken words of his childhood yearnings; how he had thought and dreamed of her from early boyhood; that he had prayed and hoped for this meeting. And now--here, had come the fulfillment of all his dreams, his hopes, his prayers! And he, as he fathomed to their secret depths the tragic but tender eyes, found love and a heart-expanding welcome. The little audience, however, saw nothing but the outward, silent greetings. To them was not revealed the greater happiness, the imperishable bond. But this silent meeting, with its overwhelming joy, was the prelude to the drama--its silent overture. The curtain had risen on the Diva's final triumph, the Immortal Opera with its happy ending. To the amazement of the audience she drew the young man's face to hers and kissed him on either cheek. Then, overcome by emotion, as it seemed, her head fell slowly forward on his breast. Without his supporting arms she would have sunk to the floor. The sisters saw, and hastened to her side. Cyrus, with their help, carried the fainting figure to a nearby bench, where they laid her, with a cushion beneath her head. Sister Lucrezia, the physician, bent anxiously over the unconscious form. And so sudden was it all that her hearers could hardly believe her when at last she arose, and solemnly announced that the spirit of Madame Francesca had risen to another life. She spoke in Italian but Cyrus knew its meaning. His head drooped and he stood motionless, crushed, as if his own spirit and that of the sleeping figure on the bench were still together.