“And what do they tell you, little Daphne?”
“They sing of something I cannot understand,” she said with a smile, “but it is very beautiful.”
The man laughed outright. “What a quaint little girl you are. Shall I tell you what they sing about? It is Love. They are telling each other how much they love, and that all should love on such days as this.” He stretched his hands out to the sky.
Carlotta suddenly remembered herself.
“I must not talk to you,” she said “it is forbidden. I must go and find the others. Sister Ursula would be very angry if she knew I had been talking to a man.”
The man smiled. “And is a man so very dreadful?” he asked.
“I suppose you are taught that they are terrible creatures, ogres who are waiting to eat little girls.”
“I don’t know,” she said “I have never spoken to one before,” and she opened wide her great eyes.
“I must not keep you,” said the man. “I am a painter, I won’t say artist, and when I saw you, I thought what a beautiful picture I could make of you, for a Madonna.”
“Oh, hush!” said Carlotta shocked. “I, as a picture of Our Blessed Lady, I must not listen,” and she rose in haste.