He looked down at her and his face flushed. "I don't know," he said. He bent toward her and took the fan from her fingers.
She yielded it with half reluctance, her eyes mocking him and her lips alluring.
He smiled back at her, shaking his head slightly and unfurling the fan. He had regained his self-possession. He moved the fan gently, stirring the red-gold hair and fluttering the silken fringe on her bodice. It rose and fell swiftly, moved in the soft current of air. His eyes studied her face. "Will you sit for me some day?" he said.
She nodded without speaking. The breath came swiftly between the red lips and the eyes were turned away. They rested on the façade of a tall building opposite, where a flock of doves, billing and cooing in the warm air, strutted and preened themselves. Their plump and iridescent breasts shone in the sun.
Her hand reached for the cithara at her side. "Shall I sing you their song?" she said, "The Birds of Venus."
He smiled indulgently. Her voice crooned the words.
"Sing!" she said imperiously. He joined in, following her mood with ready ease.
There was silence between them when the song was done. She sat with her eyes half closed, looking down at the white hands in her lap.
He lifted one of them gently, his eyes on her face. She did not stir or look up. He raised it slowly to his lips.
The warm breath stirred a smile on her face. She glanced at him from under falling lids.