Veronika, kneeling over an open satchel, paused in her task to look over her spectacles with a vaguely shocked air, as if something immoral had been said.
"This seems like the opening chapter in a lovely story-book that becomes more interesting with every page," said Paula, dropping on her knees and crushing her cheek to Veronika's gray hair, with an expansiveness that took this lady aback. "I have the happiest presentiments! Ah, Veronika, there was once a woman who said that happiness is to be young, beloved, and in Italy!"
"Unless you keep quiet and rest," said Veronika, "you will be ill, and that is as far as you will get—"
Paula stared a second in wonder at Veronika's impatience; then she reflected that her cousin was old and could not understand. "Poor Veronika!" she thought, with a sympathetic shake of the head, "she can never have but Italy!"
Like a good child, she went back to her chair, but before settling down in it she pushed it to the balcony window; then she sat with her eyes fixed upon San Miniato.
Dr. Segati came the next day, early. He found Paula pale and infinitely tired, but wearing a contented face. She sat in the balcony window, closed to-day, with a cushion behind her shoulders; flowers stood in the water near her—a delight to the eyes, wonderful wind-flowers, white and pink, purple, scarlet, pale violet. She rose to meet the doctor, and gave him the childish smile that had won his heart to her the day before.
She pointed to the book she held. "It came last night. I thank you. I am trying to read it, you see. But I do not know enough. I can make only just a little sense here and there, where it resembles French. Oh, I like it all the same—very much. The title is beautiful—Vita Nova!"
"Tell her she must not read, doctor," said Veronika. "It is bad for her. She has been tiring herself over the book."
The doctor listened politely, an intelligent eye fixed on Veronika's, and made no objection to what she said. She had always after that half an idea that he understood her.
"I had the cook sent in," said Paula, with a brightening face. "The native cook whom the padrona was so good as to engage for me. I asked her about some passages. She could read them easily—how I envied her!—but she could not make them clear to me, though she seemed to do her best."