“Oh, but, Giulietta, I don’t want anything. I couldn’t eat, if I were to try.”
“Ta, ta, ta!” said Giulietta, going out. “Wait till you smell it. I shall be back in a little while.”
And she left the room, locking the door after her.
In a few moments she returned, bearing a rich silver tray, on which was a covered dish that steamed a refreshing odor, together with a roll of white bread, and a small glass flacon containing a little choice wine.
By much entreaty and coaxing, Agnes was induced to partake of the bread, enough to revive her somewhat after the toils of the day; and then, a little reassured by the familiar presence of Giulietta, she began to undress, her former companion officiously assisting her.
“There, now, you are tired, my lady princess,” she said. “I’ll unlace your bodice. One of these days your gowns will be all of silk, and stiff with gold and pearls.”
“Oh, Giulietta,” said Agnes, “don’t!—let me,—I don’t need help.”
“Ta, ta, ta!—you must learn to be waited on,” said Giulietta, persisting. “But, Holy Virgin! what is the matter here? Oh, Agnes, what are you doing to yourself?”
“It’s a penance, Giulietta,” said Agnes, her face flushing.
“Well, I should think it was! Father Francesco ought to be ashamed of himself; he is a real butcher!”