THE PICCININO RECEIVES MILA.
He strode toward Mila with an imperious air, seized the rein of her mule, and, taking the girl in his arms as soon as she was in front of his garden gate, lifted her to the ground, pressing her lovely body with something very like violence.
When Mila at last appeared at the top of the green path which descended sharply to his orchard, he was really angry with her, for she was a quarter of an hour late, and, thanks to the Piccinino's discernment or fascinations, there was not one among the fair maidens of the mountain who would have allowed him to be first at the rendezvous in a love-affair. The brigand's unruly heart was inflamed therefore with ill-disguised rage; he forgot that he was not dealing with a mistress, and he strode toward Mila with an imperious air, seized the rein of her mule, and, taking the girl in his arms as soon as she was in front of his garden gate, lifted her to the ground, pressing her lovely body with something very like violence.
But Mila, partly opening the folds of her double mantle of muslin, gazed at him in surprise.
"Are we in danger already, my lord?" she said, "or do you think that I have brought anyone with me? No, no! See, I am alone, I have come with perfect confidence in you, and you have no reason to be displeased with me."
The Piccinino recovered his self-control as he looked at Mila. She had ingenuously arrayed herself in her Sunday garb to appear before her protector. Beneath her purple-velvet waist could be seen a second waist of a pale blue, embroidered and laced with excellent taste. A light net of gold thread confined her beautiful hair, in accordance with the fashion of the province, and to protect her face and her costume from the sun's scorching heat, she had enveloped herself in the mantellina, a thin veil of ample proportions, which covers the head and the whole body, when it is skilfully arranged and worn with grace. The Piccinino's sturdy mule, bearing a flat saddle of velvet trimmed with gilt nails, upon which a woman could easily ride sidewise, was panting and restive, as if proud to have borne and to have saved from all danger so lovely a rider. It was easy to see, from his foam-flecked sides, that little Mila had not spared him, or that she had bravely trusted to his zeal. It had been a dangerous ride, however: ridges of lava to cross, torrents to ford, precipices to skirt. The mule had taken the shortest path; he had climbed and leaped like a goat. Mila, seeing how strong and adroit he was, could not, despite her anxiety, avoid that intense and mysterious pleasure which women find in danger. She was proud of having felt physical courage spring to life within her with moral courage; and while the Piccinino admired the brilliancy of her eyes, and of her cheeks flushed by the exercise, she, thinking only of the merits of the white mule, turned and kissed him on the nose, saying: "You are worthy to carry the pope!"
The brigand could not help smiling, and he forgot his anger.
"Dear child," he said, "I am very glad that my good Bianca pleases you, and now I think that she would be worthy to eat from a golden manger, like the charger of a Roman emperor. But come quickly; I don't wish anyone to see you come in here."