“Eccellenza!”
A curious small bright-eyed woman appeared, with rough hair and not too tidy clothes. She came from Viterbo, and had a laugh for everything and sometimes a tear.
“Why did you tell the signorina it was an unlucky day?”
“Eh-h-h-h-h-h!” Nina’s “eh” began on the fourth line, and ran down chromatically. Taken with outspread hands and raised shoulders it implied, “How can the signora ask, when she knows as well as I?” What she said was, “Did not the eccellenza lose her purse?”
“But I have had a much bigger one sent to me,” said Teresa gravely.
“Then, eccellenza, it is probable that after the priest you met a hunchback, and she might counteract. Besides—” she hesitated—“there is always that unfortunate Cesare.”
The marchesa was not surprised, Nina having an extraordinary knack of knowing whatever went on. But she was vexed at her thoughts being flung back upon a subject which gave her a miserable impression of having behaved ill without intending it.
“What do you know about Cesare?”
Nina screwed her eyes together, and nodded her rough head.
“See here, eccellenza, I should not mind knowing less. When one meets such in the street it is best to shut one’s eyes and walk on. If he has a temper or not! That poor Camilla! She was a butterfly, yes, and foolish, yes—but to be shot all in a minute, without a priest! What a brother!”