V
THE KING AND QUEEN OF ITALY
1.
I have always harboured a vagrant spirit under my official frock-coat. I find my pleasure and my rest in travelling. I, therefore, took advantage of a few weeks' leave of absence, allowed me after the departure of the Russian sovereigns, to pay a visit to Italy.
A few days after my arrival at Milan, I was strolling, one afternoon, on the well-known Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele, that favourite Milanese and cosmopolitan resort, whose incessant and picturesque animation presages the gaiety, if not the charm of Italy, when the window of a glove-shop caught my eye and reminded me that I had left my gloves in the railway-carriage. I thought I might as well buy myself a new pair; and I entered the shop. A customer had gone in before me. It was a lady, young, tall and slender, quietly but elegantly dressed in a plain, dark travelling-frock. Through the long blue motor-veil that close-shrouded her face and even her hat, a pair of eyes gleamed, black and, as I thought, large and beautiful; her hair was dark and, as far as I could see, she had masses of it; the face seemed refined and pretty. Leaning on the counter, she tried on the gloves which a young shop-assistant handed to her. None of them fitted her.
"They are too large," she said, shyly.
"That is because the signora has so small a hand," replied the young assistant, gallantly.
She smiled and did not answer; the elderly lady who was with her gave the youth an indignant and scandalised glance. After patiently allowing the measure to be taken of her hand, open and closed—it was indeed a very small one—she ended by finding two pairs of gloves to suit her, paid for them and went out.
Just then, the owner of the shop returned. He looked at the lady, gave a bewildered start, bowed very low and, as soon as she was gone, shouted to his assistant:
"Have you the least idea whom you have been serving?"