“Can I smile to everybody?”
“If the smile wants to come.”
“Oh, Elena, that is the best of all!” Tacita exclaimed. “Sometimes I have met strangers whom it seemed impossible to pass without notice. Perhaps the person appeared to be in trouble, or was uncommonly simpatica; or for the moment I happened to feel strongly that we are all ‘poor banished children of Eve.’ It was an affection that I cannot describe, as though it were heaven to sacrifice your life in order to save or console another. I gave, perhaps, a glance that rested a moment, or a faint—oh, so faint!—hint of a smile; and I was always pained and mortified, the person would look so surprised. It showed me plainly that the earth is indeed accursed when our kindest impulses are so misunderstood.”
While speaking, she put on a new dress that Elena had brought her. It was a long robe of thin dark blue wool, bound at the waist by a silken sash, a lighter tint of the same color. The wide straight sleeves fell over the hands, or were turned back, such sleeves as may be gathered up under a brooch at the shoulder. A long scarf of the woolen gauze served to wrap the head and neck, if necessary. There were gloves of fine white kid and russet shoes with silver buckles.
Elena wore the same style of dress in gray.
“Gray is our working color,” she explained. “Sometimes it is worn with leathern belts, or sashes of another color. Gray alone, or with black, or white, is mourning. White is our highest gala. The very old wear white always. It gives that look of cleanliness and freshness which age needs. The children are our butterflies. They wear gay colors. We never change the form of our dress. The only variation is in color and material. I think that you will scarcely find anything more graceful, modest, or convenient.”
“It’s the prettiest dress I ever had,” said Tacita. “And now—and now”—
They went down stairs and stepped out into the veranda, and the full splendor of what she had seen but in shadow burst upon Tacita’s view.
There was every shape and shade of verdure, and every shape of barren rock and gleaming snow. There were mists of rose, blue, and gold that were flowers. There was every depth of shadow, from the tender veil as delicate as the shadow of eyelashes on the eye, to the rich dusk lurking beneath some wooded steep or overhanging crag. The houses were of a silvery gray, bright on the roofs with plants and awnings. Wherever there was water, it glittered. The façade of the Basilica was like snow, and its five windows blazed in the morning sun. The wavering path that threaded the gardens was yellow, and shone with some sparkling gravel.
Tacita leaned over the balustrade and looked right and left. At every turn some lovely picture presented itself.