Here the page sprang suddenly up into a sitting posture. It seemed as if some new thought had taken possession of his fancy. His eyes sparkled, his lip curved, his cheek rounded, and his whole frame shook with suppressed laughter.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, as the tears came into his eyes; “Oh! ’twas exquisite!” He gave his right leg an emphatic slap. “’Twas exquisite—exquisite—exquisite!” And laughing louder than ever, the page walked up and down the apartment, well nigh bursting with repeated fits of merriment.
“Oh! St. Guiseppo!” he cried, “an’ I live to be an old man, I shall never recover it! Ha—ha—ha!”
Mayhap it was very fortunate for Guiseppo that the door leading into Ladye Annabel’s apartment was opened, just at the moment when he seemed about dissolving in his merriment.
A lovely maiden, with dark eyes and jet black hair, entered the chamber, with an angry look, as if to reprove the author of this boisterous laughter; but no sooner did she behold Guiseppo than she rushed into his arms, pronouncing his name at the same time, to which he very quietly responded—“Rosalind!” accompanying the expression with a kiss.
Having seated themselves upon a couch, Rosalind began to recall the times of old, naming many a familiar scene, many a well-known spot, where they had rambled together, ere Guiseppo left the castle—within whose walls he had been reared—to be a page to his grace of Florence.
As Rosalind rattled on, Guiseppo sat in mute admiration, much wondering to behold the lively little child, whom he had left some two years since, grown up into a handsome and budding damsel. He gazed with peculiar admiration upon the boddice of green velvet, which fitted so nicely, revealing the shape of one of the finest busts in the world—so Guiseppo thought, at least. He also had some indefinite idea of the prettiness of the cross of ebony, which, strung around her arching neck by a chain of gold, rose and fell with the heavings of the maiden’s bosom.
The dimple of the chin—thought Guiseppo—is very pretty; those lips are very tempting, but those beautiful, dancing, beaming black eyes—Guiseppo rounded the sentence with a sigh.
“I’faith, Guiseppo,” continued Rosalind, “your merriment, but a moment ago, startled me with affright. You might have awaked my cousin, the Ladye Annabel. She is sleeping after her fright in that dreadful vault. Tell me, Guiseppo, what made you so merry?”
The mirthful idea—whatever it was—again danced before the fancy of the page, and he fell into a fit of laughter, interspersed with numerous exclamations of delight.