"A well-bred turtle-dove, indeed!" exclaimed Orso, and the emotion withwhich he kissed his sister contrasted strongly with the jesting tone inwhich he spoke.
"Your song is delightful," said Miss Lydia. "You must write it in myalbum; I'll translate it into English, and have it set to music."
The worthy colonel, who had not understood a single word, added hiscompliments to his daughter's and added: "Is this dove you speak of thebird we ate broiled at dinner to-day?"
Miss Nevil fetched her album, and was not a little surprised to see the_improvisatrice_ write down her song, with so much care in the matter ofeconomizing space.
The lines, instead of being separate, were all run together, as far asthe breadth of the paper would permit, so that they did not agree withthe accepted definition of poetic composition--"short lines of unequallength, with a margin on each side of them." Mademoiselle Colomba'ssomewhat fanciful spelling might also have excited comment. More thanonce Miss Nevil was seen to smile, and Orso's fraternal vanity sufferedtortures.
Bedtime came, and the two young girls retired to their room. There,while Miss Lydia unclasped her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, shewatched her companion draw something out of her gown--something aslong as a stay-busk, but very different in shape. Carefully, almoststealthily, Colomba slipped this object under her _mezzaro_, which shelaid on the table. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers devoutly.Two minutes afterward she was in her bed. Miss Lydia, naturally veryinquisitive, and as slow as every Englishwoman is about undressingherself, moved over to the table, pretended she was looking for a pin,lifted up the _mezzaro_, and saw a long stiletto--curiously mounted insilver and mother-of-pearl. The workmanship was remarkably fine. It wasan ancient weapon, and just the sort of one an amateur would have prizedvery highly.
"Is it the custom here," inquired Miss Nevil, with a smile, "for youngladies to wear such little instruments as these in their bodices?"
"It is," answered Colomba, with a sigh. "There are so many wicked peopleabout!"
"And would you really have the courage to strike with it, like this?"And Miss Nevil, dagger in hand, made a gesture of stabbing from above,as actors do on the stage.
"Yes," said Colomba, in her soft, musical voice, "if I had to do it toprotect myself or my friends. But you must not hold it like that, youmight wound yourself if the person you were going to stab were to drawback." Then, sitting up in bed, "See," she added, "you must strike likethis--upward! If you do so, the thrust is sure to kill, they say. Happyare they who never need such weapons."
She sighed, dropped her head back on the pillow, and closed her eyes. Amore noble, beautiful, virginal head it would be impossible to imagine.Phidias would have asked no other model for Minerva.
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