"Where are you going, Favetta?" he cried.
Hearing herself addressed by her name, she blushed and smiled with embarrassment. "I'm taking the cow to the shed," she replied.
As she had suddenly slowed down her step, the snout of the beast grazed her hips, and her bold bust stood out between the large horns as in the crescent of a lyre.
"You're always singing," said George, admiring her in this attitude.
"Ah! signor," she said with a smile, "if we couldn't sing, what could we do?"
"Do you remember that morning when you plucked the furze flowers?"
"The first flowers for your lady?"
"Yes; do you remember?"
"I remember."
"Sing again for me the song you sang that day!"