Three palaces and one large department store comprise the Via Dolorosa for those who mourn Diana, Princess of Wales. In warm sunshine, in parks scented with new-mown grass, all of Britain and much of her old empire, laden with rosebuds and lilies, sunflowers and gerbera, carnations and hydrangeas, seemed destined yesterday for one of the impromptu shrines that have been raised to a young woman many have already canonised as a saint.
In the shadow of the mighty monument to Victoria Regina: Imperatrix, surrounded by the gates that recall the elements of empire - Australia, Malay States, South Africa, Canada - hundreds of thousands of subjects queued for up to five hours to sign the book of condolences at St James Palace, where Diana's body lies, and to lay their offerings at the gates of Buckingham Palace itself.
In an ironic twist that must be of considerable concern to the regular denizens of the palace, many of them were there, at this enormously symbolic location, "for Diana, and ONLY Diana", in the words of Surrey woman, Gertrude Cook.
"She was lovely - normal, like you or me. Not like the others of that family."
As they stood patiently in line, weariness and deep sadness were cut with a cold and defiant anger. The difference yesterday, however, was that the anger appeared to have taken a new direction - away from the photographers who were spat at and jostled on Sunday and towards the royal family.
From Pall Mall to Kensington the hostility towards "that family" was palpable and building through a swathe of middle England, a people which clearly believes itself to have been treated with the same cold disdain as that meted out to Diana in her "martyred" lifetime.
By ousting her from the inner circle and stripping her of royal status the Firm, it seems, struck at the heart of middle England.
What was done to the Queen of Hearts was done to them. In ascribing to her the title, People's Princess, Tony Blair seems once again to have his finger on the pulse of a nation.
Stuck defiantly to the railings beside the main gates of Buckingham Palace, beside a flag with the St Georges' Cross, a poster reads: "You always were, are, and always will be our most SERENE Royal Highness."
Repeatedly the words "normal" and "real" crop up in conversation and on tribute cards.
"HRH Princess Diana," reads a tribute at the gates of Kensington Palace, "You've earned the title more than anyone. You were the most amazing person the world ever saw, because you were real and you cared."
Another reads: "Diana - the Saint, the REAL Queen that the world liked is gone."
And another: "HRH Princess of Wales - Born a Lady, Became a Princess, Died a Saint. You should have been our Queen." And: "You were always OUR Queen and will always be OUR Queen."
"She could have saved them but they didn't deserve her," said a middle-aged man, "I'm glad she's being buried in her own family plot and not with them."
Few imagine for a moment that the concession of the "virtual" state funeral is in any sense sincere.
"What choice did they have? They have to do it for her son - the boy who will be king. They have to look ahead to how the future king will remember the treatment of his mother. Oh yes, the PR machine is at work - on us and on those poor little boys."
The sense of loss and grief is striking for anyone who might be in London seeking replays of the hysterical scenes repeatedly screened on television in recent days. The general mood is far more sombre and profound.
It is written in the faces of children and old people, cool teenagers and linen-suited young businessmen, walking together the same path to the railed-off shrines. It is in the magnificence of the floral offerings - the perfect rosebuds and lilies, the elegant tied bunches and expensive bouquets.
Above all, it is in the simplicity and utter sincerity of the messages on the cards and notes, the post-it stickers and pages torn from jotters.
They speak of sainthood and beauty, of loss and tears, of paradise and prayer. Above all, they speak of peace and freedom - "at last". And happiness for herself and Dodi - "together in Heaven forever".
And implicit in this is the suspicion that Diana could never be free on earth, neither to be the unfettered , saintly Queen of Hearts nor to find true love with Dodi.
"A Nobel Peace Prize - that's for sure," predicted a reflective, middle-aged Londoner, "and maybe recognition from one or other of the churches - Catholic or Anglican. Like Joan of Arc.
"After all, the legacy left by that lady . . . well, that Mercedes was her cross and the tunnel her Calvary, wasn't it?"
Unlikely as it may seem, his imagery is reflected in many of the people's offerings - pictures of the Sacred Heart and a suffering Virgin Mother, a crucifix studded with flowers, burning candles wreathed in religious pictures.
Even the most cynical heart must be touched by the sight of a young teacher from Swiss Cottage Special School, laboriously sello taping 20 carefully-drawn, handmade cards to the Kensington Palace railings, all drawn by children with mental or physical disabilities.
Tracey Temple, the teacher, had tears in her eyes as she worked. "The kids were really upset," she whispered. "They said she was the kind of person who would have loved them for who they are."
Diana may well have been the Spirit of the Age, as one elegant Frenchman suggested, but she was also something much more tangible for the plain people of England. And Ireland too.
Beside a bunch of purple carnations in Kensington Park reads a tribute: "To the fairest Royal Princess of all. From an Irish Republican and HIS Princesses from Wales. RIP. Sean, Helen and Sue."