“An’ thou art minded to take my pledge, I will,” answered Hildebrand, smiling, though mournfully.
“Prithee advise me first what like are her eyes?” replied Don Rafaele.
“Black—black as death,” said Hildebrand, “yet sparkling as day.”
Don Rafaele looked up. “What like are her cheeks?” he asked.
“Of a dark complexion,” answered Hildebrand. “I cannot tell how lovely.”
A smile stole over the face of Don Rafaele, and, though he still spoke low, the tone of his voice was more cheerful, as he added—“What like is her hair?”
“In hue, ’twould shame the raven,” returned Hildebrand. “Moreover, it hath such an excellent fair curl, and is so admirably dressed withal—”
“Hold thee there,” cried Don Rafaele, with a merry laugh, “or thou wilt presently make her an angel. I will even take thy pledge without further description.”
“To her health, then!” exclaimed Hildebrand.
Don Rafaele, still smiling, caught up his goblet, and raised it to his lips. After just sipping of it contents, he laid it down again, and once more turned to Hildebrand.