, he saw how skilful Franco himself was with his
hands, and how many terrible Latin names he knew, and what a surprising
talent he possessed for imagining new and beautiful arrangements, he
conceived, little by little, an almost fearful admiration for him, which
soon--in spite of many scoldings--developed into devoted affection.

The little hanging garden was transformed in Franco's own image and
likeness. An _olea fragrans_ in one corner spoke of the power of gentle
things over the hot, impetuous spirit of the poet; a tiny cypress, not
over-acceptable to Luisa, spoke in another corner of his religiosity; a
low, brick parapet, in open-work pattern, ran between the cypress and
the _olea_, supporting two parallel rows of tufa-stones, between which
blossomed a smiling colony of verbenas, petunias, and wall-flowers, and
spoke of the singular ingenuity of its author; the many rose-bushes
scattered everywhere spoke of his love of classic beauty; the _ficus
repens_ which decked the walls towards the lake, the twin orange-trees
between the two tiers, and a vigorous carob-tree, revealed a chilly
temperament, a fancy turning always towards the south, insensible to the
fascination of the north.

Luisa had worked far harder than her husband, and still continued to do
so, but whereas he was proud of his labours and glad to speak of them,
Luisa, on the contrary, never mentioned hers, nor was she in the least
proud of them. She laboured with the needle, the crochet, the iron, the
scissors, with a wonderful, calm rapidity; working for her husband, her
child, the poor, herself, and for the adornment of her house. Each room
contained some creation of hers; dainty curtains, rugs, cushions, or
lamp-shades. It was also her duty to arrange the flowers in the hall and
the loggia; no flowers in pots, for Franco did not have many, and did
not wish them shut up in rooms; no flowers from the little garden, for
to gather one of those was like tearing it out of Franco's heart. But
the dahlias, the gladioles, the roses, and the asters of the
kitchen-garden were at Luisa's disposal. These, however, were not
sufficient, and as the village loved "Sciora Luisa" best after the
Almighty, St. Margherita, and St. Sebastian, at a sign from her, its
children would bring her wildflowers and ferns, and ivy to festoon
between the great bunches, stuck in metal rings on the walls. Even the
arms of the harp that hung from the ceiling of the hall, were always
entwi