“How do you do, Marietta?” Beatrice asked.
“I can't complain, thank your Grandeur. I have the lumbago on and off pretty constantly, and last week I broke a tooth. But I can't complain. And your Highness?”
Marietta returned, with brisk aplomb.
Beatrice smiled. “Bene, grazie. Your new master—that young Englishman,” she continued, “I hope you find him kind, and easy to do for?”
“Kind—yes, Excellency. Also easy to do for. But—!” Marietta shrugged her shoulders, and gave her head two meaning oscillations.
“Oh—?” wondered Beatrice, knitting puzzled brows.
“Very amiable, your Greatness; but simple, simple,” Marietta explained, and tapped her brown old forehead with a brown forefinger.
“Really—?” wondered Beatrice.
“Yes, Nobility,” said Marietta. “Gentle as a canarybird, but innocent, innocent.”
“You astonish me,” Beatrice avowed. “How does he show it?”