IV
Half-way down the long straight avenue of ilex-trees that led from thecastle to the principal entrance of the garden, Annunziata, in herpale-grey pinafore (that was so like a peplum), with her hair wavingabout her shoulders, was curled up in the corner of a marble bench,gazing with great intentness at a white flower that lay in her lap. Itwas the warmest and the peacefullest moment of the afternoon. The sunshone steadily; not a leaf stirred, not a shadow wavered; and theintermittent piping of a blackbird, somewhere in the green worldoverhead, seemed merely to give a kind of joyous rhythm to the silence.
"Mercy upon me! Who ever saw so young a maiden so deeply lost inthought!" exclaimed a voice.
Annunziata, her reverie thus disturbed, raised a pair of questioningeyes.
A lady was standing before her, smiling down upon her, a lady in a frockof lilac-coloured muslin, with a white sunshade.
Annunziata, who, when she liked, could be the very pink of formalpoliteness, rose, dropped a courtesy, and said: "Buon giorno,Signorina."
"Buon giorno," responded the smiling lady. "Buon giorno--and a penny foryour thoughts. But I'm sure you could never, never tell what it was youwere thinking so hard about."
"Scusi," said Annunziata. "I was trying to think of the name of thisflower." She stooped and picked up the flower, which had slipped fromher lap to the ground when she rose. Then she held it at arm's length,for inspection.
"Oh?" asked the lady, smiling at the flower, as she had smiled at itspossessor. "Isn't it a narcissus?"
"Yes," said Annunziata. "It is a narcissus. But I was trying to think ofits particular name."
The lady looked as if she did not quite understand. "Its particularname?"
"It is a narcissus," explained Annunziata, "just as I am a girl. But itmust also have its particular name, just as I have mine. It is a souldoing its Purgatory--a very good soul. If you are very good, then, whenyou die, you do your Purgatory as a flower. But it is not such an easyPurgatory--oh, no. For look: the flower is beautiful, but it is blind,and cannot see; and it is fragrant, but it cannot smell; and peopleadmire it and praise it, but it is deaf, and cannot hear. It can onlywait, wait, wait, and think of God. But it is a short Purgatory. A fewdays, and the flower will fade, and the soul will be released. I thinkthis flower's name is Cecilia, it is so white."
The smile in the lady's eyes had brightened, as she listened; and nowshe gave a little laugh, a little, light, musical, pleased and friendlylaugh.
"Yes," she said. "I have sometimes wondered myself whether flowers mightnot be the Purgatory of very good souls. I am glad to learn from youthat it is true. And yes, I should think that this flower's name wassure to be Cecilia. Cecilia suits it perfectly. What, if one may ask, is_your_ particular name?"
"Mariannunziata," said its bearer, not to make two bites of a cherry.
The lady's eyes grew round. "Dear me! A little short name like that?"she marvelled.
"No," returned Annunziata, with dignity. "My name in full is longer. Myname in full is Giuliana Falconieri Maria Annunziata Casalone. Is thatnot long enough?"
"Yes," the lady admitted, "that is just long enough." And she laughedagain.
"What is _your_ name?" inquired Annunziata.
"My name is Maria Dolores," the lady answered. "You see, we are bothnamed Maria."
"Of course," said Annunziata. "All Christians should be named Maria."
"So they should," agreed the lady. "Do you ever tell people how old youare?"
"Yes," said Annunziata, "if they wish to know. Why not?"
The smile in the lady's eyes shone brighter than ever. "Do you think youcould be persuaded to tell me?"
"With pleasure," said Annunziata. "I am eleven years and five months.And you?"
"I am just twice as old. I am twenty-two years and ten months. So, whenyou are fifty, how old shall I be?"
"No," said Annunziata, shaking her head. "That trick has been tried withme before. My friend Prospero has tried it with me. You hope I will saythat you will be a hundred. But it is not so. When I am fifty, you willbe sixty-one, going on sixty-two."
Still again the lady laughed, apparently with great amusement.
"What a little bundle of wisdom you are!" she exclaimed.
"Yes. My friend Prospero also says that I am wise," answered Annunziata."I like to see you laugh," she mentioned, looking critically at the faceabove her. "You have beautiful teeth, they are so white and shining, andso small, and your lips are so red."
"Oh," said the lady, laughing more merrily than ever. "Then you must bevery entertaining, and I will laugh a great deal."
Still looking critically at the lady's face, "Are you not," demandedAnnunziata, "the person who has come to visit the Signora Brandi?"
"Signora Brandi?" The lady considered. "Yes, I suppose I must be. At anyrate, I am the person who has come to visit Frau Brandt."
"Frao Branta? We call her Signora Brandi here," said Annunziata. "Areyou related to her?"
"No," said the lady, who always seemed inclined to laugh, thoughAnnunziata had no consciousness of being very entertaining. "I am notrelated to her. I am only her friend."
"She is an Austrian," said Annunziata. "This castle belongs toAustrians. Once upon a time, very long ago, before I was born, all thiscountry belonged to Austrians. Are you, too, an Austrian?"
"Yes." The lady nodded. "I, too, am an Austrian."
"And yet," remarked Annunziata, "you speak Italian just as I do."
"It is very good of you to say so," laughed the lady.
"No--it is the truth," said Annunziata.
"But is it not good to tell the truth?" the lady asked.
"No," said Annunziata. "It is only a duty." And again she shook herhead, slowly, darkly, with an effect of philosophic melancholy. "That isvery strange and very hard," she pointed out. "If you do not do thatwhich is your duty, it is bad, and you are punished. But if you do doit, that is not good,--it is only what you ought to do, and you are notrewarded." And she fetched her breath in the saddest of sad littlesighs. Then, briskly covering her cheerfulness, "And you speak English,besides," she said.
"Oh?" wondered the lady. "Are you a clairvoyante? How do you know that Ispeak English?"
"My friend Prospero told me so," said Annunziata.
"Your friend Prospero?" the lady repeated. "You quote your friendProspero very often. Who is your friend Prospero?"
"He is a signore," said Annunziata. "He has seen you, he has seen yourform, in the garden and in the olive wood."
"Oh," said the lady.
"And I suppose he must have heard you speak English," Annunziata added."He lives at the presbytery."
"And where, by-the-by, do _you_ live?" asked the lady.
"I live at the presbytery too," said Annunziata. "I am the niece of theparroco. I am the orphan of his only brother. My friend Prospero liveswith us as a boarder. He is English."
"Indeed?" said the lady. "Prospero is a very odd name for anEnglishman."
"Prospero is not his name," said Annunziata. "His name is Gian. That isEnglish for Giovanni."
"But why, then," the lady puzzled, "do you call him Prospero?"
"Prospero is a name I have given him," explained Annunziata. "One day Itold his fortune. I can tell fortunes--with olive-stones, withplaying-cards, or from the lines of the hand. I will tell you yours, ifyou wish. Well, one day, I told Prospero's, and everything came out soprosperously for him, I have called him Prospero ever since. He will berich, though he is poor; and he will marry a dark woman, who will alsobe rich; and they will have many, many children, and live in peace tothe end of their lives. But there!" Annunziata cried out suddenly, withexcitement, waving the hand that held her narcissus. "There is my friendProspero now, coming in the gig."
Down the avenue, sure enough, a gig was coming, a sufficiently shabby,ancient gig, drawn, however, at a very decent pace by a verydecent-looking horse, and driven by John Blanchemain.
"_Ciao_, Prospero!" called Annunziata, as he passed.
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br /> And John took off his hat, a modish Panama, and bowed and smiled to herand to the lady. And one adept in reading the meaning of smiles mighthave read three or four separate meanings in that smile of his. Itseemed to say to Annunziata, "Ah, you rogue! So already you have waylaidher, and made her acquaintance." To the lady: "I congratulate you uponyour companion. Isn't she a diverting little monkey?" To himself: "And Icongratulate _you_, my dear, upon being clothed and in your right mind,and upon having a proper hat to make your bow with." And to the universeat large "By Jove, she _is_ good-looking. Standing there before thatmarble bench, in the cool green light, under the great ilexes, with herlilac frock and her white sunshade, and Annunziata all in grey besideher,--what a subject for a painting, if only there were any painterswho knew how to paint!"
"He is going to a dinner at Roccadoro," said Annunziata, while John'sback grew small and smaller in the distance. "Did you see, he had aportmanteau under the seat? He is going to a dinner of ceremony, and hewill have his costume of ceremony in the portmaneau. I wonder what hewill bring back with him for me. When he goes to Roccadoro he alwaysbrings something back for me. Last time it was a box of chocolatecigars. I should like to see him in his costume of ceremony. Wouldn'tyou?"
But the lady merely laughed. And then, taking Annunziata's chin in herhand, she looked down into her big clear eyes, and said, "I must be offnow, to join Signora Brandi. But I cannot leave without telling you howglad I am to have met you, and what pleasure I have derived from yourconversation. I hope we shall meet often. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Signorina," said Annunziata, becoming formally polite again."I shall always be at your service." And she dropped another courtesy."If you will come to see me at the presbytery," she hospitably added,"I will show you my tame kid."
"You are all that is most kind," responded the lady, and went offsmiling towards the castle.
Annunziata curled herself up in her old corner of the marble bench, andappeared to relapse into profound thought.