I looked at our young Englishman, who still had his back turned to us and
was staring up at the picture. "I will tell you some other time," I
said.

"I shall certainly remind you; I am very curious to know." Then she
opened and shut her fan two or three times, still looking at me. What
eyes they have! "Tell me a little," she went on, "if I may ask without
indiscretion. Are you married?"

"No, Signora Contessa."

"Isn't that at least a mistake?"

"Do I look very unhappy?"

She dropped her head a little to one side. "For an Englishman--no!"

"Ah," said I, laughing, "you are quite as clever as your mother."

"And they tell me that you are a great soldier," she continued; "you have
lived in India. It was very kind of you, so far away, to have remembered
our poor dear Italy."

"One always remembers Italy; the distance makes no difference. I
remembered it well the day I heard of your mother's death!"

"Ah, that was a sorrow!" said the Countess. "There's not a day that I
don't weep for her. But _che vuole_? She's a saint its paradise."