'Oh, he only makes me laugh,' Ortensia answered; 'he is so funny, with his little pursed-up mouth and his round eyes! I am sure he must be the kindest-hearted creature in the world. But Don Alberto is quite different. I am a little afraid of him. I feel as if some day he might say something to me——'
'What, for instance?' asked Stradella, amused. 'What do you think he may say?'
'That he thinks me—what shall I say?—very pretty, perhaps!'
'He would only be saying to your face what every one says behind your back, love! Should you object very much if he told you that he thought you beautiful?'
'I do not wish to be beautiful for any one but you,' Ortensia answered softly. 'I wish that every one else might think me hideous, and never come near me!'
'And that I might seem to every one but you to sing out of tune!' laughed Stradella.
'At all events they would leave us alone, if they thought so! But I did not mean it in that way. I think you do not care whether men make love to me or not!'
She was not quite pleased, and as she leaned her head back against the wall he saw her pouting lips in the moonlight.
'I like to be envied,' said Stradella.
As he made this singular answer he bent over a mandoline he had been holding on his knee and made the point of the quill quiver against the upper strings with incredible lightness, so that the tinkling note seemed to come from very far away and could not interrupt the conversation.