Agatha remained, and looked out upon the garden, and beyond it upon the sweet country, with its varied beauty. She remained listening peacefully and dreamingly to the hum of bees, the twittering of birds, the voices and footsteps in the inn, and inhaling the perfumes of the nosegay which she had arranged, and the cool freshness of that pleasant morning hour, when the sun behind her and behind the house was throwing the shadows of buildings, sheds, trees, and cattle in long lines toward the Tyrrhenian Sea. While thus calmly resting, admiring, and musing, a lady in a dark robe of poil, (gausapa,) with a very pallid face and large black eyes, stood suddenly in the doorway of the bower, and blocked out the lovely prospect. The stranger smiled, and, holding out a bunch of flowers, said,
"My pretty young lady, I see that the offering I have been culling for you has lost its value. You are rich already. May I sit down in this pleasant shady place a moment to rest?"
"Yes, you may, certainly," said Agatha.
"I suppose," resumed the stranger, "that you belong to this house, my little friend? I am a stranger, and merely lodging—"
"We are lodging, too, and strangers," answered Agatha.
"From your accent," continued the other, "I judge you to be Greek."
"Mother is," replied Agatha; "but brother calls himself a Roman knight, and even noble."
"I knew it!" cried the lady; "you have it written in your countenance. I, too, am a noble lady; my name is Plancina. Have you ever seen Rome?"
"Never."
"Ah! how you will be enchanted. You must come to see me. I have a house in Rome; such a pretty house, full of such curious things! Ah! when you see Rome, you will hold your breath with wonder and delight. I will make you so happy when you come to see me in my pretty house."