Who was this woman whom he had never seen, who spoke a foreign language
and yet knew the _ribera_ well? Perhaps the wife of one of the French or
English orange-dealers established in the city! Meanwhile his eyes were
devouring that superb, that opulent, that elegant beauty which seemed to
be challenging him with its indifference to his presence.

The keeper of the Hermitage issued cautiously from the house--a peasant
who made his living from visitors to the heights. Attracted by the
promising appearance of the strange lady, the hermit came forward to
greet her, offering to fetch water from the cistern, and to unveil the
image of the miraculous virgin, in her honor.

The woman turned around to answer the man, and that gave Rafael an
opportunity to study her at his leisure. She was tall, ever so tall, as
tall as he perhaps. But the impression her height of stature made was
softened by a grace of figure that revealed strength allied to elegance.
A strong bust, sculpturesque, supporting a head that engaged the young
man's wrapt attention. A hot mist of emotion seemed to cloud his vision
as he looked into her large eyes, so green, so luminous! The golden hair
fell forward upon a forehead of pearly whiteness, veined at the temples
with delicate lines of blue. Viewed in profile her gracefully moulded
nose, quivering with vitality at the nostrils, filled out a beauty that
was distinctly modern, piquantly charming. In those lineaments, Rafael
thought he could recognize any number of famous actresses. He had seen
her before. Where?... He did not know. Perhaps in some illustrated
weekly! Perhaps in some album of stage celebrities! Or maybe on the
cover of some match-box--a common medium of publicity for famous
European belles. Of one thing he was certain: at sight of that wonderful
face he felt as though he were meeting an old friend after a long
absence.