"But I 'm doubting it's a bit too late--troppo tardo," he
said to Marietta, whom he found bringing hot water to his
dressing-room.

"It is not very late," said Marietta. "Only half-past ten."

"She is a woman--therefore to be loved; she is a duchess
--therefore to be lost," he explained, in his native tongue.

"Cosa." questioned Marietta, in hers.




XI


Beatrice and Emilia, strolling together in one of the flowery
lanes up the hillside, between ranks of the omnipresent poplar,
and rose-bush hedges, or crumbling pink-stuccoed walls that
dripped with cyclamen and snapdragon, met old Marietta
descending, with a basket on her arm.

Marietta courtesied to the ground.

"How do you do, Marietta?" Beatrice asked.

"I can't complain, thank your Grandeur. I have the lumbago on
and off pretty constantly, and last week I broke a tooth. But
I can't complain. And your Highness?"