"No rain for to-morrow, caro mio," said the Marchesa, as she and Amaldi sat smoking companionably after dinner, each in a long willow chair. "I can go villa-hunting with your charming friend to-morrow, beyond a doubt."
"Yes. That's good," said Amaldi.
The Marchesa glanced at him. He was smoking contentedly, with a very tranquil expression on his face. It was still light enough to see even the colours of flowers quite plainly. The Marchesa put her own cigarette back between her lips. Then she took it out and looked at it, smiling.
"You haven't noticed my new splendore, Marco," she said, waving the gold-tipped cigarette towards him.
"Eh?" he said, as though rousing suddenly.
"These 'gilded luxuries,'" said his mother, indicating the cigarette between her big, handsome fingers.
"Why, Baldi! What swagger!" he laughed, taking in the cigarette. This name of "Baldi," by which both her sons sometimes addressed her, had arisen from the fact that as a bride she had arrived in Italy with a severe cold in her head, and had pronounced her new name "Abaldi." Her husband had begun to call her "Baldi" for fun, in the honeymoon days. Later on the children had taken it up. She associated it more with her boys than with her husband, and liked them to call her so. Only when very serious did they say "Maman."
"Yes. Don't you wonder how I came by such gorgeousness?" she now asked.
"I do indeed. I thought you scorned such vanities."
"I do, as a rule, but that dear thing pressed them on me so prettily that I hadn't the heart to refuse. Mrs. Chesney I mean. She is a dear thing, Marco."