Perhaps once upon a time Costantina was beautiful—beautiful as the angels—but if so, it was long, long ago. Now she was old and fat, with a hawk nose and a double chin and one tooth left in the middle of the front. But if she were not beautiful, she was at least a cheerful old soul, and, though she could not possibly know the reason, she echoed the signorina’s laugh until she nearly shook the clean clothes into the water.
Constance settled herself among the cushions and glanced back toward the terrace.
‘Good afternoon,’ she nodded politely to the young man.
He bowed with his hand on his heart.
‘Addio, Gustavo.’
He bowed until his napkin swept the ground.
‘Addio, Costantina,’ she waved her hand toward her namesake.
The washer-woman laughed again, and her earrings flashed in the sunlight.
Giuseppe raised the yellow sail; they caught the breeze, and the Farfalla floated away.