They were met by the two old ladies, who had come out into the hall to do honor to their guest. They were two fine old dames, tall, thin, fair-faced, and grey-haired like their descendant, the admiral. They were both dressed similarly in black satin gowns with white muslin neckerchiefs, and white lace caps; and looked very much alike, except that the elder had more flesh and less hair than the younger. They stood smiling and courtesying with pleasing, old-fashioned affability.
“Madame Pezzilini,” said the admiral, with formal courtesy, “will your highness permit me to present to you my grandmother, Mrs. Stilton, and my mother, Mrs. Brunton, who both feel highly honored to receive you?”
“That we do,” said the elder.
“Yes, I’m sure,” added the other.
“Ladies, kind friends,” said the Italian, “you see before you no princess, but a poor widow, a stranger and a fugitive, who seeks only a temporary asylum under your hospitable roof.”
“You are kindly welcome, madame, either as one or the other,” said Mrs. Stilton, heartily, offering her hand.
“Ah, that indeed you are!” chimed in Mrs. Brunton, extending hers.
The princess received and pressed those venerable hands, and was about to express her thanks, when a broad glare of lightning, accompanied by a deafening roll of thunder, and a shock of wind and rain that seemed to shake the house, made them spring apart. The effect of this burst of the tempest was felt with the more force from the fact that all the window shutters were still open.
“Good gracious, Iry!” said the oldest lady, as soon as she had recovered from the shock; “surely you’ll have the shutters closed on such an awful night as this?”
“No, ma’am, not this night, of all nights in the year. The harder the storm the greater the need of a beacon-light to guide any wayfaring traveller to the house,” said the admiral, decidedly.