people who came to the inn had told her that she was beautiful; and not
the rough wine-carters only, for the fox-hunters sometimes came that
way, riding slowly homeward after a long run, and many a fine gentleman
in pink had said things to her which she had answered sharply, but which
she remembered well. She had not the slightest doubt but that she was
one of the handsomest girls in Italy, and the absolute certainty of the
conviction saved her from having any small vanity about her looks. She
knew that she had only to show herself and that every one would stand
and look at her, only to beckon and she would be followed. She did not
crave admiration; a great beauty rarely does. She simply defied
competition, and was ready to laugh at it in a rather good-natured way,
for she knew what she had, and was satisfied.

As for the rest, she was merely clever and fearless, and her moral
inheritance was not all that might be desired; for her father had left
her mother in a fit of pardonable jealousy, after nearly killing her and
quite killing his rival, and her mother had not redeemed her character
after his abrupt departure. On the contrary, if an accident had not
carried her off suddenly, Regina's virtuous parent would probably have
sold the girl into slavery. Poor people are not all honest, any more
than other kinds of people are. Regina did not mourn her mother, and
hardly remembered her father at all, and she never thought of either.

She owed Paoluccio and Nanna nothing, in her opinion. They had fed her
sufficiently, and clothed her decently for the good of the house; she
had done the work of two women in return, because she was strong, and
she had been honest, because she was proud. Even the innkeeper and his
wife would not have pretended that she owed them much gratitude; they
were much too natural for that, and besides, the girl was too handsome,
and there might be some scandal about her any day which would injure the