From the piazza the black and white striped marble, the gabled front and its fine sculptures, reminded Irma of the Orvieto Duomo. But it had not the rich color of the other. On each side of the door were columns surmounted by a marble wolf.
"Oh, you must get used to La Lupa in Siena. You know the story goes that Siena was founded by Senus, son of Remus, hence the Sienese claim the wolf as their especial emblem. You'll see it everywhere. Now follow me and listen attentively, young ladies, and you'll find you can 'do' this vast Duomo in the shortest time on record. No, no."
The last was said to a guide who was following them closely, a half-grown boy, who was not easily shaken off.
"Richard really is a very good guide," whispered Ellen. "He knows so many stories about everything, and when he doesn't remember he can make up something just as interesting."
In consequence of this remark of Ellen's, Irma was not always sure how much was truth and how much imagination, in the legends that Richard rapidly told of saints and church dignitaries, painted on the walls, or done in graffito in the marble pavement. But of one thing she was certain, she had never seen a building so complete in its carvings, whether of wood or marble, its paintings and gildings. She admired the tall flagstaffs captured at Montaperti, though they seemed out of place in a church. She stood long, studying the details of the exquisite marble pulpit by Nicholas Pisano, when Richard exclaimed, "The most beautiful pulpit in Europe. He worked on it for three years, and then received for it—about thirty dollars."
"Is that the truth or a legend?" she asked, smiling.
"The real true truth," he answered. "I saw it in a book of accounts in the Municipal building. They have a great many interesting manuscripts there. The letters of Catherine of Siena, and many other autographs would fetch their weight in gold in our country."
"An autograph wouldn't weigh very much," suggested Irma.
But Richard took no notice of the interruption.