Smoke began to pour from the frail-looking chimney above the Sistine Chapel at 5.50pm. It came out the same intriguingly ambiguous grey as in the morning and the night before. Then it seemed to darken before lightening to a steady light grey that might just have passed for white when swept by the breeze across the stonework of the Apostolic Palace.
There was some hesitant cheering from the crowd of maybe 20,000 gathered in front of the basilica waving a bewildering variety of flags: Lebanese, Brazilian, Argentinian, US and German.
Vatican officials had said earlier that there would only be a signal in the middle of the afternoon if a pope had been elected. But where were the bells? They had promised that to avoid the confusion that has so often attended papal elections the bells of St Peter's would be rung.
It was not until almost 20 minutes later that the Vatican's television cameras, relaying images to the square, focused on the belfries. A cry went up and slowly one of the giant bells began to toll.
At this stage in a papal election, there is a convenient anticlimax. Behind the scenes, there is frenetic activity. The Pope is asked if he accepts his election and the name by which he intends to be known. A document is drawn up certifying the acceptance and the name.
Then, says the Apostolic Constitution Universi Dominici Gregis on the Vacancy of the Apostolic See and the Election of the Roman Pontiff, "the cardinal electors approach the newly elected pope in the prescribed manner, in order to make an act of homage and obedience".
It says nothing about mobile phones. But these were crucial yesterday, as people in the square messaged friends and relatives elsewhere in the city to tell them the news.
Many Romans learned what was going on from Vatican Radio's FM channel, 105 Live. Almost immediately, they came hastening in their thousands, running through the maze of cobbled streets around the Vatican, weaving on their motorini (scooters) around cars, around pedestrians and over the pavements.
Witnessing the proclamation of a new pope is part of what being a Roman is. By the time the new Pope had been robed, a steady light drizzle was falling. The senior cardinal-deacon Jorge Arturo Medina Estévez appeared on the balcony of St Peter's, backed by the vast crimson curtains hung at the window behind.
"Carissimi fratelli e sorelle," he began, before going on to say "Dear brothers and sisters" in five languages. The last was English. It counts for less in the world of Roman Catholicism.
He continued with the traditional declaration until he let the cat out of the bag with the name "Josephum". That could only be one man - Joseph Ratzinger.
Ndongo Desire from Yaounde in Cameroon, who had been hoping for a pope from the developing world, maybe even his own country's cardinal, Christian Tumi, gave a resigned shrug.
"The world is not yet ready to accept a black pope," he said.
Benedict XVI, as we shall now have to get used to calling him, eventually appeared on the balcony to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd and described himself as a "simple, humble labourer in the vineyard of the Lord".
Down in the square, there was an outburst of the kind of football chanting that we had heard at John Paul II's funeral. "Ben-e-detto, Ben-e-detto", they shouted, and the new Pope gave a smile that lit up his dark, deep-set eyes.
The election of a second non-Italian pope was a blow to all those, in Rome particularly, who had thought matters would return to their normal course after what was sometimes, optimistically, called "the Polish exception".
But, just to remind everyone that this was an Italian affair - well, sort of - a carabinieri band struck up the Italian anthem. Nationalistic music was no doubt the last thing the new pontiff wanted to hear and he moved inside after a few bars.
Many of the other cardinals had gathered on the other balconies, some looking delighted, but others noticeably straight-faced.
Archbishop of Milan Dionigi Tettamanzi, the favoured candidate of many liberals, wiped something from his eye.
"He's wiping away a tear," said the woman next to me. "No. No. It couldn't be a tear."