“What think you now, my dear cousin?”
“I think,” replied the young man, “that ‘the warbling is better than the plumage.’ ”
“What eyes!” cried the countess.
“One might say, two black diamonds in a casket of Russia leather.”
“She is grave,” said the countess, “but not haughty.”
“And timid as a woman of the common class,” said Raphael.
“But what a voice!” added the countess; “what a divine voice!”
“There should be engraven on her tomb,” replied Raphael, “the epitaph which the Portuguese composed for their celebrated singer Madureira—
“Aqui yaz o senhor de Madureira,
O melhor cantor do mundo:
Que movieu porque Deus quiseira,
Que si naon quiseira naon.
E por que lo necisitó na sua capella,
Dijole Deus: canta-cantou cosa bella!
Dijo Deus á os anjos: id vos á pradeira,
Que melhor canta o senhor de Madureira.”[5]
“Raphael,” said the countess, “you are an eternal railler, and nothing escapes your love of fun. I will go and order your portrait under the figure of a mockingbird.”