He had no cause to repeat the request. Coolly and disdainfully, but with a paleness that showed both fear and anger, the young exquisite walked out as leisurely as he had come in.
A laugh as sharp and bright as a blade shot across the old woman’s face, but she said not a word.
“You are getting acquainted with him rapidly,” the Signora whispered to her friend. “Isn’t he refreshing? It is so beautiful to see a man whose first impulse is to protect a woman from annoyance, even when the woman doesn’t belong to him. Carlin is truly a manly, honorable fellow.”
“I hear a faint little song, sweet and low,” said Bianca, listening with her pretty head aside and her eyes lifted.
“It is Carlin’s bird,” said the Signora.
The girl glanced about, but saw no cage.
“It is a soft, cooing sound,” she said.
“It is Carlin’s dove,” the Signora replied.
Bianca looked at her inquiringly, her lips still apart, and her head turned to listen to the melody.
“He doesn’t keep it in a cage, but in a nest,” the Signora went on, smiling. “Come, and I will show you. Step lightly, and do not speak. He is too busy to notice, and this great tapestry will hide us. You must examine this some time, by the way. It is all in rags, but very precious. See that foot on it! Doesn’t it look as if it were just set on the green ground—after a bath, too? It is so fresh and perfect.”