The Duchess of Sutri has magnificent eyes, black and vivid, which form a singular contrast to the old age depicted in her face and person. Both their fans are closed in their hands, now so tired of moving them after so many years of balls and festivities. They are talking together slowly, watching with wandering eyes the elegant crowd which is coming and going.
“It wanted an Emperor, Lavinia, to make me leave my home at night.”
“Oh, in other times I wouldn’t have come here at any cost; isn’t he a Lutheran? But all that is changed. My Fabrizio has absolutely stated his wish to enter the Italian army. How was I, a widow, to contradict him? You understand me.”
“You have done well, my poor Lavinia. In fact, perhaps our sons and nephews are more right to accustom themselves to the new state of things than we are to protest. Now I am tired and sorry even of the discussion. I look and smile; sometimes I even laugh.”
“As for me, on the other hand, so many things happen and cause my pity, Livia. But to whom am I to say it? I should offend people by remarking on certain misfortunes and losses.”
“What magnificence, do you remember, in our times?”
“We were all much richer then, Livia.”
“What a lot of us have fallen into the most terrible poverty; it is a real shame.”
“Poor, poor thing! She lives on her little property near Perugia, just a small house and a garden, I think.”