Giannella

by Mrs. Hugh Fraser

And Rinaldo, his heart quite full of another love, proclaimed that he already felt for the good woman the affection of a son. There was nothing he would not do to prove it. Let Giannella try him. Meanwhile, would she not persuade Sora Mariuccia to bring her to his studio some Sunday afternoon? They could have a little refreshment on the terrace, and he would get his friend, Peppino Sacchetti, who sang divinely, to come and bring his mandolin, and though indeed the pictures were not worth looking at, the signorina would be amused at the antics of the pigeon, Themistocles, who would dance about when Peppino played, and was altogether a most sagacious bird.

The first part of this speech opened up a dizzy vista of happiness not to be contemplated for a moment when one had only one old frock and one's shoes were going to pieces. So, with a determined gulp, Giannella ignored it and replied to the last words only.

"Oh, he is yours then, the one with the silver collar? I thought he belonged to Fra Tommaso. Why, he comes to see me every day."

"Beato lui, too happy bird!" cried Rinaldo, with sudden passion in eyes and voice. "My little sister sent him to me from Orbetello, saying he would bring me good fortune. It is he who is fortunate." Then, as the color flushed up in Giannella's cheek at his cry, he went on more quietly, "Signorina, I am coming to-morrow to bring Sora Mariuccia something from the vigna—poor stuff, but fresher than we get in the city. Then I shall myself invite her for next Sunday. What kind of ice-cream do you like best."

"Framboise," she replied, without a moment's hesitation. Then she remembered. Such pleasures were not for her. She turned away to hide the silly tears that would come into her eyes, and said chokingly, "Oh, please do not speak of it, Signor Goffi. It is quite impossible—there are good reasons. We never go anywhere—we could not come."

Rinaldo was silent, looking at the averted head where the gold gleamed royally through the carefully mended lace. His trained eye took in the poverty of the thin black dress with its neat little darns here and there; it clothed the delicate young form very kindly, but it was a thousand times unworthy of such honor. Being artist as well as lover, he understood, and his heart was so hot with love and pity that for the first time in his life words failed him. Giannella moved towards the outer gate of the court, and he followed dumbly, aching to find expression for what he felt. But there was nothing to say which would not have been an offense; he could not offer sympathy where he had no right to seem to understand. His Latin tact came to his aid, however, as he held the door open for her to pass out.

"We will put off our party a little, then, signorina," he said, gentle detaining her. "The weather is warm just now. Perhaps it would please you better to come to the vigna, some day when the grapes are ripe? It will be cooler then." And he added to himself, "And by that time, my beautiful heart, you will have a Sunday dress of splendid blue silk, and a gold chain to match your hair, and you will go to your own, for the vigna will belong to you. We will be married on the first Sunday in October, and what a sposina you will make!"

Giannella murmured something and hastened away towards the Piazza Santafede, and Rinaldo stood looking after her till she disappeared. Then he regained his studio in haste, and applied himself to the picture for the rich foreigner. He was to receive five hundred scudi for it, and that was just the sum he wanted to put the apartment in order and buy his wedding gifts for his bride. He had been tempted to commit the extravagance of having a living model this time, so as to get on faster; but he reflected that the hired peasant would not look much more like a real cardinal than the ever-obedient but rickety clay figure, and then—three pauls an hour! No, it was not to be thought of—when one had set one's mind on that other extravagance, that holy folly of marriage.

"Come along, your Eminence," he exclaimed as he knocked Themistocles off the ragged head and crowned it with a red skullcap. Then he got his old friend seated in the cherub-crowned chair, pinned the red tablecloth round him in dignified folds, and in half-an-hour had forgotten that he was not contemplating a live dignitary of the Church.

Towards evening the friend of whom he had spoken to Giannella, Peppino Sacchetti, came to tempt him away to the Tiber for a row and a swim before the sun went down.