"With permission?" inquired a courteous voice, and one hand held out a small parcel while the other removed the hat from a handsome young head. "I took the liberty—Sora Mariuccia will pardon me, I trust. I have heard of her so much from Fra Tommaso—and I knew she was anxious to have this as soon as possible. How is the chiarissimo Professore this morning?"
If the young man felt any chagrin at the substitution of this janitress for a prettier one he effaced all signs of it from his address. He was so good-looking, so urbane, there was such honest kindness in his smile, that the hardest feminine heart must have softened to him. Mariuccia thawed at once. What if he were to prove—but she chased away the rosy dream, and answered his inquiry about the padrone's health, thanked him for his amiability and, remembering that the Professor was safe in bed, was actually going to ask Rinaldo to enter. It went against all her traditions to keep anyone standing at the threshold.
But Rinaldo had his traditions too. One did not impose oneself as a visitor on the strength of a rendered service. "Levo l' incommodo" (I remove the inconvenience of my presence), he said, bowing and turning to depart. Then a thought struck him, and he came back to ask: "Can I be of any service in the way of commissions while the Professor is ill? it would be for me a pleasure. I live over the dairy in the Via Tresette, close by. A word to Sora Amalia, and I am at your disposal at any time, day or night. Arrivederci, Sora Mariuccia."
"A beautiful youth," she remarked to herself when she had thanked him and closed the door. "And well brought up. He would not even come in. I do not believe he is running after Giannella at all. Poor child—it might be a good thing for her if he did—if he has any money. San Giuseppe mio, send us a good husband for her, and restore my little padrone to his right mind. I will never complain of his faults any more if only he drops his crazy idea of marrying Giannella. Eccomi quá, here I come!" This in answer to a querulous call from the invalid's room.
When she returned to the kitchen Giannella's bad temper had disappeared. She was standing at the window amusing herself with feeding Fra Tommaso's pigeons, who looked upon her as their supplementary Providence, since she always had crumbs and corn in store for them. The wide window sill so near the deep palace eaves was shady in the hot hours, and the pretty tame creatures often haunted it, strutting up and down, carrying on their little sham fights over tempting morsels or boldly hopping on Giannella's shoulder to ask for more. She was quite unconscious that she was ever watched from across the way at these moments, but, to tell the truth, Rinaldo trespassed unwarrantably on Fra Tommaso's premises and wasted a good deal of time in the occupation of feeding his eyes on the sight of his goddess and the preoccupation of preventing her or anyone else from finding it out.
Themistocles was bolder. He had taken to Fra Tommaso's loggia and his own kin there very kindly, and had wheeled towards Giannella's window more than once in the wake of the rest; but he had never settled there till this morning, when he at last permitted himself to be courted and captured.
"Fra Tommaso has got a new pigeon and a fine name for it too," said Giannella as Mariuccia entered. She had made up her mind to pardon her old friend and this seemed a good way of opening up a reconciliation. "See, is he not a beauty? And he has a silver band round his neck, with 'Themistocles' on it. What grandeur! Fra Tommaso grows extravagant in his old age. Ah, ungrateful one," she cried, as the bird slipped from her hand and soared away over the convent roof, "being full you depart, but you will return with great love when you are hungry again."
"That reminds me," Mariuccia replied, catching at the flag of truce, "that gentleman who brought the medicine just now spoke of Fra Tommaso. He seems a nice quiet young man."
"Who? Fra Tommaso?" Giannella asked. "He seems to me a nice talkative old one." And she laughed, being too full of happiness to quarrel long with anyone to-day. Her troubles seemed to have vanished into air. The padrone was out of sight and mind, and the sun was rising on her horizon at last.
After this it was impossible to refuse to speak to Rinaldo when she met him in the mornings, and the little conversations in the back court of San Severino became very friendly and intimate. Rinaldo always began with eager inquiries after the health of the illustrious Professor, as if his peace of mind depended on the answer. Then he hoped that the most respectable Sora Mariuccia was well. After that, conventionalities were forgotten. In the most natural way in the world each came to know all about the other. Rinaldo had learned Giannella's limited life story from her own lips, had had to avow his admiration of Mariuccia's goodness—"She is an angel, that woman," Giannella declared one morning, her eyes suffused with emotion; "she seems cross and rough, but she has a heart of gold. Oh, you will love her when you know her better."