“Ninna’s in the cradle,” she said. “She’s pretty too.”
Romola went to look at the sleeping Ninna, and Monna Lisa, one of the exceptionally meek deaf, who never expect to be spoken to, returned to her salad.
“Ah! she is waking: she has opened her blue eyes,” said Romola. “You must take her up, and I will sit down in this chair—may I?—and nurse Lillo. Come, Lillo!”
She sat down in Tito’s chair, and put out her arms towards the lad, whose eyes had followed her. He hesitated: and, pointing his small fingers at her with a half-puzzled, half-angry feeling, said, “That’s Babbo’s chair,” not seeing his way out of the difficulty if Babbo came and found Romola in his place.
“But Babbo is not here, and I shall go soon. Come, let me nurse you as he does,” said Romola, wondering to herself for the first time what sort of Babbo he was whose wife was dressed in contadina fashion, but had a certain daintiness about her person that indicated idleness and plenty. Lillo consented to be lifted up, and, finding the lap exceedingly comfortable, began to explore her dress and hands, to see if there were any ornaments beside the rosary.
Tessa, who had hitherto been occupied in coaxing Ninna out of her waking peevishness, now sat down in her low chair, near Romola’s knee, arranging Ninna’s tiny person to advantage, jealous that the strange lady too seemed to notice the boy most, as Naldo did.
“Lillo was going to be angry with me, because I sat in Babbo’s chair,” said Romola, as she bent forward to kiss Ninna’s little foot. “Will he come soon and want it?”
“Ah, no!” said Tessa, “you can sit in it a long while. I shall be sorry when you go. When you first came to take care of me at the Carnival, I thought it was wonderful; you came and went away again so fast. And Naldo said, perhaps you were a saint, and that made me tremble a little, though the saints are very good, I know; and you were good to me, and now you have taken care of Lillo. Perhaps you will always come and take care of me. That was how Naldo did a long while ago; he came and took care of me when I was frightened, one San Giovanni. I couldn’t think where he came from—he was so beautiful and good. And so are you,” ended Tessa, looking up at Romola with devout admiration.
“Naldo is your husband. His eyes are like Lillo’s,” said Romola, looking at the boy’s darkly-pencilled eyebrows, unusual at his age. She did not speak interrogatively, but with a quiet certainty of inference which was necessarily mysterious to Tessa.
“Ah! you know him!” she said, pausing a little in wonder. “Perhaps you know Nofri and Peretola, and our house on the hill, and everything. Yes, like Lillo’s; but not his hair. His hair is dark and long—” she went on, getting rather excited. “Ah! if you know it, ecco!”