braid of any other sort for the hair. More than three strands always seems to me like a market-basket on the head of a market-woman. I always thought very elaborate hair-dressing vulgar and unbecoming. I like the way yours is done this morning.”
Bianca’s hair was in a few large satin-smooth curls tied back with a ribbon of so fresh a green as to be almost gold, and the Signora knew that, after a careful brushing, five minutes had accomplished all the rest. There were no curl-papers nor hot irons; it was only to brush the tress about the pretty fore-finger, and it dropped in glossy coil on coil.
“Many people do not like curls,” Bianca said. “But it seems a pity to straighten out and braid curly hair. I think nature meant such hair to have its own way, just like vine tendrils, though the use may not be so evident.”
She spoke with a certain quietness, not cold, yet not cordial, and kept her eyes fixed on the braid her skilful fingers were weaving rapidly.
The Signora took up the photographs she had laid aside, glanced at one, and dropped it, then looked at the other for some time in silence. “What fine, earnest eyes he has!” she said at length. “There is even something reproachful in their expression, as if he were looking at one who had doubted him. I do not doubt you, sir. On the contrary, I am disposed to have the utmost confidence in you. Moreover, I shall be happy to see you in Rome.”
She laid the photograph carefully on the other, and, closing her eyes, resigned herself entirely to the care of her pretty handmaiden. There was silence for a few minutes while the braids were being finished; then
she felt a soft hand slip down each cheek with a caressing touch. “Open your eyes, carissima mia,” said a voice as soft, “and tell me how these are to be arranged. Will you have them looped or in a crown?”
The thin ice was quite melted; and when the hair-dressing was finished, Bianca went off to her own room, bearing the treasure that had been put into her possession in such an artful manner. “It makes me feel very twisted to act in such a crooked way; but if it is a crooked it isn’t a dark way. And the dear child is so happy!” the Signora thought.
A shower was passing to the south when our party came out of the church at noon, and the sun was so veiled that they sent their carriage on, and walked from Santa Croce to St. John Lateran. They could see a pearly stream of water pouring down far away from a dark spot in the sky to a dark spot on the earth; but the clouds over their heads were as tender and delicate as the shadows of maidenhair ferns about a fountain. They lingered till every one had passed them, and, when they came to the last mulberry-tree of the beautiful avenue, there was left only a contadino lounging on the stone bench there. He was a spectacle of faded rags and superb contentment, and seemed to have neither desire nor intention to leave the place for hours; but when he saw them look longingly at the seat, he rose, saluted them with an indescribably shabby hat, in which were stuck three fresh roses, and relinquished the bench to them.
Bianca sighed with delight as she glanced about, but said nothing. The others seemed disposed to talk.