"Of course," echoed Flavia, "So do I. But mamma amuses me so much!
She is always in a hurry."

Faustina made no answer, but she looked at Sant' Ilario, as though
she wondered what he thought of her sister. He returned her gaze,
trying to explain to himself the strange attraction of her
expression, watching her critically as he would have watched any
new person or sight. She did not blush nor avoid his bold eyes, as
he would have expected had he realised that he was staring at her.

A few minutes later Giovanni found himself in a narrow, high room,
lighted by one window, which showed the enormous thickness of the
walls in the deep embrasure. The vaulted ceiling was painted in
fresco with a representation of Apollo in the act of drawing his
bow, arrayed for the time being in his quiver, while his other
garments, of yellow and blue, floated everywhere save over his
body. The floor of the room was of red bricks, which had once been
waxed, and the furniture was scanty, massive and very old.
Anastase Gouache lay in one corner in a queer-looking bed covered
with a yellow damask quilt the worse for a century or two of wear,
upon which faded embroideries showed the Montevarchi arms
surmounted by a cardinal's hat. Upon a chair beside the patient
lay the little heap of small belongings he had carried in his
pocket when hurt, his watch and purse, his cigarettes, his
handkerchief and a few other trifles, among which, half concealed
by the rest, was the gold pin he had picked up by the bridge on
the previous evening. There was a mingled smell of dampness and of
stale tobacco in the comfortless room, for the windows were
closely shut, in spite of the bright sunshine that flooded the