The lady, to whom I had the letter, received me cordially. She lives in an old palace, with large high rooms, and modern furniture. I pleased her by saying how much we admired the dark Syracusan type; I did not see one blonde in Syracuse.
“Your women have superb hair,” I said; “they dress it beautifully.”
“You noticed that? I have seen women without shoes, whose coiffures were finer than those I saw in Paris. They are extravagant. Imagine! my washerwoman has her hair dressed; she pays a franc and a half a month to a hair-dresser—you should see her; her coiffure is almost as good as mine.”
“That would be difficult; your hair is magnificent.”
“All my own—see, hardly a white hair, just two or three over the temple. When I was young, it covered me like a cloak, but what can one expect at sixty?”
“Sixty—it’s not possible!”
“Yes, my festa was a week ago; how old should you have said?”
“Less than forty.”
It was true, she was the youngest person for her age I ever saw. A tall shy man now came in followed by a brown lupetto dog.
My hostess introduced me. “An American lady—she brings a letter from the Contessa Q.—she would be welcome without it—we know what the Americani are doing, Signora. I myself saw the good warm clothes the American Capitano landed here. O, the Prefetto was glad of those garments and those medicines—what was the name of the ship, Arturo?”