The young girl told his name and what he was; but the words did not fall on listening ears, and the lady sat like one spell-bound, with eyes riveted on the youth's face.
“Am I like any one you have known, signora?” asked he, as he read the effect his presence had produced on her. “Do I recall some other features?”
“You do,” said she, reddening painfully.
“And the memory is not of pleasure?” added the youth.
“Far, far from it; it is the saddest and cruelest of all my life,” muttered she, half to herself. “What part of Italy are you from? Your accent is Southern.”
“It is the accent of Naples, signora,” said he, evading her question.
“And your mother, was she Neapolitan?”
“I know little of my birth, signora. It is a theme I would not be questioned on.”
“And you are a sculptor?”