She shook her head, tossing back her hair with one of those instinctive movements that seemed to break a bond or to free her of some fetter.
"Wait!"
And quickly withdrawing from her hat two large pins that held it in place, she uncovered her head. She turned back to the landing and tossed the sparkling hat into the gondola; then she rejoined her friend, running her fingers lightly through the waves of her hair, through which the air passed, while the sun shone on it warmly. She seemed to feel relieved, as if she breathed more freely.
"Did the wings hurt?" Stelio asked with a laugh.
And he regarded the ripples, roughened not by the comb but by the wind.
"Yes, the least weight annoys me. If I should not appear eccentric, I should always go without a hat. But when I see the trees I cannot resist my impulses. My hair remembers that it was born wild and free, and it wishes to breathe in its natural way—in the desert, at least."
Frank and gay in her manner, she glided over the grass with her graceful, swaying movement. And Stelio recalled the day when, in the Gradenigo garden, she had appeared to his eyes like the beautiful tawny greyhound.
"Oh, here comes a Capuchin!"
The friar-guardian approached them, and greeted them with affability. He offered to conduct Stelio within the walls of the monastery, but said that the rules forbade the admission of his companion.
"Shall I go in?" said Stelio, with a look at La Foscarina, who was smiling.