"And from what part of Italy did you come?" she kindly asked.
"Vengo da Roma" replied the boy, drawing himself up proudly.
"The Roman peasant is a prince, mamma," said Eve quickly, in an undertone.
Luigi glanced up instantly and smiled, and offered to her a little plaster cherub, silver-gilt, just spreading wings for flight.
"It is for her," said he, with an appealing look at the mother. "For her,—la principessina. I myself made it."
No one perceived his adroit under-meaning; but Eva bethought herself of her school-phrases, and venturously selected one.
"È grazioso!" said she.
Luigi's face kindled anew; it seemed as if the sound of his native tongue were like some magic wand that called the blind blood to his cheek or drove it into the pools of his heart; the smile broke all over his face as light dances on burnished gold; he turned to her boldly with outstretched hands, like some one asking an alms.
"Give to me a song," he said.
"Volontieri" quoth Eve, in hesitating accent, and flitted back to her piano. Without a thought, he followed.