r neck, the chains of gold, the
bosom.

"Oh, Annina! Annina! it is, it is your poor Ippolita," panted the
beauty, and fell into the red arms of her friend.

"Sakes! dear sakes! Thou'lt spoil thy glory, my lovely dear," cried the
other; "but there then, but there then, there's nothing to wail about.
Tell me the trouble, tell thy good Nannina!" So she petted her, like a
mother her child.

Donna Euforbia stood confused, but dutiful ever. "Has her Majesty any
further commands?"

"Grazie, grazie," said her kissing Majesty, "niente!" and so was left
alone with all that she held true in Padua.

"Oh, come, Nannina, come and sit with me; come to the window--let us
have the air." She led her there. "O lasso!" said she then, and sighed;
"how good it is to see thee, child!"

Before the other could let out a "Madonna!" she began her plaint. "They
give me no rest, Nannina, no rest at all. Day long, night long, they are
at their postures. I am dressed, undressed, put to bed, taken out, fed,
watered, like a pet dog. They put me in a bath, they do my hair out
every day: to get me up in the morning according to their fancies is an
hour and a half's work for three ladies. Figure it!"

"Christian souls!" cried Nannina, "what's the meaning of this? A bath?
What, water."

"Full to the brim with water, on the faith of a Catholic. Of course, if
this continues I must die."

"Oh, sicuro, sicurissimo!" she agreed. "This is very serious, Ippolita.
Eh, let me feel you. Are you ever dry, my poor child?"

"Dry to the touch, Nannina, dry to the touch. But it is within my body I
fear it. I must be sodden, dearest."

"Send for a priest, Ippolita, that is the only chance. But, remember,
when they have washed you, they put clothes upon you like these. Ah, but
it is worth a girl's while to have silk upon her, and these chains, and
these pearls. Corpaccio! there is no Madonna in Padua with such stones
as these, nor any bishop either, upon my faith!"

Ippolita shook her beautiful head. "They are not worth the price of all
that smelling water," she complained. "Try it, Nannina, before you
speak. Seriously, I am very unhappy. Let me tell you something."

"Well?"

"No--come nearer. I'll whisper."

The two heads were very close together. Nannina's eyes became a
study--attention, suspicion, justified prophecy, hopefulness; then
saucerfuls of sheer surprise to smother every other emotion.

"Ma! Impossibile! And they have never--?"

"Never so