loose-sleeved camorra of grey velvet that was heavy with costly furs;
above the lenza of fine linen on her head gleamed the gold thread of a
jewelled net, and at her waist a girdle of surpassing richness, all set
with gems, glowed like a thing of fire in the bright sunshine.

She took a deep breath of the sharp, invigorating air, then looked about
her, and espying me in conversation with Giacopo she approached us across
the gleaming snow.

"Is this," she inquired, and her sweet, melodious voice was a perfect
match to the graceful charm of her whole presence, "the traveller who so
kindly consented to fill for us the office of a guide?"

Giacopo answered briefly that I was that man.

"I am in your debt, sir," she protested, with an odd earnestness. "You do
not know how great a service you have rendered me. But if at any time
Paola Sforza di Santafior may be able to discharge this obligation, you
shall find me very willing."

White-faced, black-browed Giacopo scowled at this proclamation of her
identity.

I made her a low bow, and answered coldly, brusquely almost, for I hated
the very name of Sforza, and every living thing that bore it.

"Madonna, you overrate my service. It so chanced that I was travelling
this way."

She looked more closely at me, as if she would have sought the reason of