CHAPTER X
Bona sat amongst her maidens. They were all busy as spiders upon a loom of tapestry, spinning a symbolic web. The subject was as edifying as their talk over it was free. Their lips and fingers were perpetually at odds, weaving reputations and pulling them to pieces. Bona herself said little; but abstraction gave some indulgence to the smile with which she listened, or seemed to.
'Whither do her thoughts travel?' whispered one girl of another.
'Hush!' was the answer. 'Along the Piedmont Road with her lord, of course. What else would you?'
The first giggled.
'Nothing, indeed, if it left a chance for poor little me. But, alack! I fear her charity stops nearer home.'
'What then, insignificance? Would your presumption fly at an angel?'
'Yes, indeed, though it got a peck for its pains. (Mark the Caprona's ear pricked our way! She knows we are on the eternal subject.) Heigho! it will be something to share in this promised commonwealth of love, at least.'
She spoke loud enough for the little Catherine Sforza, sitting by her adopted mother, to hear her.
'Ehi, Carlina,' cried that pert youngster: 'What share do you expect for your small part?'