“We could not have her handling the food, you know,” he said; “but she is so decorative that we want to look at her while we eat and drink. Antonio has outdone himself (he knew I was coming), this ham really has been boiled in vino di Montefiascone, as I suggested. The girls of Palestrina are as handsome as the girls of Præneste.” Armida, our girl, had come back, a dripping conca poised on her head.
“How do you know so much about the girls of Præneste?” I asked.
“Go to the Kircheriano Museum and look at the Ficoronian Cista and you will know as much as I do,” Patsy confessed. “It was found near here in the necropolis. It is a green bronze toilet casket, with the most corking pictures from the story of the Argonauts engraved upon it you ever saw! Pollux has just licked Amycus, you know, for interfering with the Greeks preempting the spring of water, and tied him up to a tree, as he deserved. Then you have the Greeks drinking out of the spring. In the harbor lies the good ship Argo; on shore you see Jason and Hercules, one of the Argonauts in the attitude of boxing, a fat old Silenus mimicking him. Female beauty is represented by Athena and Niké, who seem to be offering a victor’s crown to the lucky Pollux. It’s up to date, I can tell you. The girls are no prettier than Armida there; but find me the man who can ‘do’ her like the fellow who engraved that Cista, and I will pay him to make her portrait!”
“How long ago was the casket made?” Helen asked.
“If you must have a date, 700 B.C. is as good as another. Heigh ho! The world’s grown lazy! All this talk about modern energy makes me tired! Where’s the energy in any race on earth to-day to build an arx like this? to live on the top of a steep hill like this? to trundle itself and its chattels up and down? Our civilization compared to Præneste’s is barbarism by every standard I know.”
“You don’t know much,” said Helen. “I know you have waited too long for your luncheon. Your views will improve directly.”
As we ate our luncheon, Armida awkwardly weaving a garland of oak leaves after a pattern Patsy made her, watched us with shy, hungry eyes. She and I exchanged glances (not a word was spoken) which said,—
“Signora, I have rarely tasted white bread—never such a pasticcio as the signorino is giving to the shepherd’s dog!”
“Figlia mia, all that remains of the feast shall be for you and the shepherd; you will divide with him?”
“Stia sicura (Rest assured)!” said Armida’s honest eyes.