h her name was Rosamond,
and she was the Rose of the World.

Directly Eve saw the boy kneeling there over his tray, the cast
suspended in his hand, as he leaned intently forward with the rich
carmine deepening the golden tint of his brow and with that yellow fire
in his wine-dark eyes, she ceased singing, and, not hesitating to mimic
the well-known call, cried,--

"Images?"

Then Luigi remembered where he was, and answered the question asked five
minutes since.

"Signora, seven shillings."

"That is reasonable, now," said the lady. "I will have it for that sum.
Do you cast these things yourself?"

"My master and I."

"Have you been long here?"

"Alas! much, much time," said he, with melancholy earnestness.

"And from what part of Italy did you come?" she kindly asked.

"_Vengo da Roma_" replied the boy, drawing himself up proudly.

"The Roman peasant is a prince, mamma," said Eve quickly, in an
undertone.

Luigi glanced up instantly and smiled, and offered to her a little
plaster cherub, silver-gilt, just spreading wings for flight.

"It is for her," said he, with an appealing look at the mother. "For
her,--_la principessina_. I myself made it."

No one perceived his adroit under-meaning; but Eva bethought herself of
her school-phrases, and venturously selected one.

"_E grazioso_!" said she.

Luigi's face kindled anew; it seemed as if the sound of his native
tongue were like some magic wand that called the blind blood to his
cheek or drove it into the pools of his heart; the smile broke all over
his face as light dances on burnished gold; he turned to her boldly with
outstretched hands, like some one asking an alms.

"Give to me a song," he said.

"_Volontieri_" quoth Eve, in hesitating accent, and flitted back to her
piano. Without a thought, he followed.

It was a little song of flowers and sunshine that Eve began to carol
over the carolling keys; the words fell into the sweetness of the air,
that seemed laden with the morning murmur of bees and blossoms; it was
but a verse or two, with a refrain that went repeating all the honeyed
burden, till Luigi's face fairly burned with pleasure, where he stood at
timid distance in the doorway.

"_Cio mi fa bene!_ That does me good!" cried he, as she rose. "Ah,
Signorina, I am happy here!"

Then he turned and found the elder lady counting out his money. He
received the seven shillings quietly, as his due; but when she would
have paid him for the che