The glory of your afterglow
Will never wholly fade.
LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS
It was Pasqua delle Rose, literally Easter of Roses, to distinguish it from Pasqua delle Uova, or Easter of Eggs; in other words, Whitsuntide. We were indebted to Lamia for this pretty designation, which was new to all of us, and she had made acquaintance with it in the course of conversation with Perfetta, who, though by no means what her name implied, and, indeed, as Veronica said, the most imperfect of our native retainers, had long since quite won Lamia’s heart by a spontaneous compliment. Very early on in her study of Italian, Lamia had displayed an extraordinarily fine ear for the pronunciation of that language, and a quick talent for assimilating its most familiar phrases, so that Perfetta one day declared she must surely be of Italian parentage.
‘Indeed she is not,’ I said. ‘Guess from what land she comes?’
Perfetta looked at her for a moment, and then exclaimed: ‘Dal Paradiso.’
Lamia treated this suggestion of celestial origin with much levity, but, all the same, made Perfetta a present of a gown which she declared was worn out; though to my masculine perception it seemed almost as good as new, and Veronica confirmed my impression by reproving her for spoiling Perfetta at the same time that she deprived herself of a still very excellent garment.
‘I am sure,’ said Lamia, apologetically, ‘you would not scold me if you had seen Perfetta’s delight, and heard her expression of it. If one gives a gown to one’s English maid, one receives a most respectful “Thank you, Miss,” and never hears another word about it; and, likely enough, she sells it, having no sentiment on the subject whatever. But Perfetta went into raptures over the poor little gown, hugged it, kissed it, spread it to the light, and has recurred to it again and again. Indeed, to listen to her is to have a lesson in Italian expletives of admiration. She would keep it, she said, for Feast days, not even for ordinary Sundays, unless perhaps she put it on, for the first time, on the festival of her patron Saint. Finally, she declared she would wear it, for the first time, at Pasqua delle Rose, and so you saw her in it yesterday. But, if I gave her the gown, I have likewise made you all a present of a most beautiful phrase; and, if you still are of opinion that I have left myself short of a frock, it is always open to any one to manifest gratitude by replacing it.‘