"Oh, a touch will make that right."
"What a pity 'tis not coloured. I'm all for colours. Hang black and white! And her highness hath such a lovely skin. Take away her skin, and half her beauty is lost."
"Peace. Can you colour, Ser Gerardo?"
"Ay, signorina. I am a poor hand at oils; there shines my friend Pietro: but in this small way I can tint you to the life, if you have time to waste on such vanity."
"Call you this vanity? And for time, it hangs on me like lead. Send for your colours now,—quick,—this moment,—for love of all the saints."
"Nay, signorina, I must prepare them. I could come at the same time to-morrow."
"So be it. And you, Floretta, see that he be admitted at all hours. Alack! leave my head! leave my head!"
"Forgive me, signora; I thought to prepare it at home to receive the colours. But I will leave it. And now let us despatch the letter."
"What letter?"
"To the Signor Orsini."