he chose of the conversation. Erect as a palm-tree, slender,
queenly, with her thin and clearly cut features, and her head like that
of some Circassian carved in black marble, she had a kinship of
picturesqueness with Luigi, and could meet him more nearly on his own
ground than another, for her voice was as sweet as his, and he was only
less dark than she. Breakfast over, she took her way into the garden,
set open the gate, and busied herself pinching the fresh shoots of the
grape-vine, too luxuriant in leaves. She did not wait long before Luigi
came up the side-street, his tray upon his head, his gait less elastic
than beseemed the fresh, fragrant morning. Paula stepped forward and
gave him pause, with a gesture.

"Sir!" said she, commandingly.

Luigi looked up at her inquiringly. Then a pleasant expectation overshot
his gloomy face; he smiled, and his teeth glittered, and his eyes.
Instantly he unslung his tray and set it upon the level gate-post.

"Sir," said Paula, "do you come here often?"

"_Tutti i giorni_," answered Luigi, scarcely considering her worth
wasting his sparse and precious English upon.

"You come here often," said Paula. "Will you come here no more?"

Luigi opened his eyes in amaze.

"You will come here no more," said Paula.

"_Chi lo_,--who wishes it?" stammered Luigi.

"My mistress," answered Paula, proudly, as if to be her servant were
more than enough distinction, and to mention her name were sovereign.

"Who commands?" he demanded, imperatively.

"Still my mistress."

"She said--Tell me that!"

"She said, 'Paula, if the boy disturbs us further, we must take
measures.'"

"The Signorina?"

"Her mother."

"Not the Signorina, then!" And Luigi's gloomy face grew radiant.

"She and her mother are one," replied Paula.

Luigi was silent for a moment. One could see the shadows falling over
him. Then he said, softly,--

"My Paula, you will befriend me?"

Paula bridled at the address; arrogant in family-place, she would have
assured him plainly that she was none of his, to begin with, had he been
an atom less disconsolate.

"Never more than now!" said she, loftily.

Luigi did not understand her; her tone was kind, but there was a "never"
in her words.

"I should be the most a friend," said Paula, unbending, "in urging you
to forget us."

"Ah, never!"

"Let me say. Can you read?"

"Some things," replied Luigi quickly, his brow brightening.

"Can you write?"

"It may b