Nostalgia. Grazia Deledda

behind her back; "give me a kiss, Regina!"

      Regina kissed her without enthusiasm, and Antonio said—

      "I've explained that to get time for writing you prepare dinner at 5 a.m. God only knows what sort of meal you'll give us!"

      "Here's what will reassure you!" said Arduina, revealing floury hands. "I write easily, you know," she went on, "at any hour and in any place; so it's true, sometimes, when the inspiration comes I do sit down with a pen at a corner of the kitchen table. And I get so wrapped up in what I'm doing that the meat's apt to get burned. But what does it matter?" she added, laughing with her rather silly but apparently conceited laugh; "roast meat is no more than roast meat, and art is art. But come in; sit down; amuse yourself with these papers, dear. I'll be with you in a moment, and then you'll give me that information about female benevolence in Mantua."

      "Leave her in peace," said Antonio, as before.

      "Don't you interfere with me! There's no one cares for your wife so much as I do. Why, I adore her! Do you hear," she repeated, turning to Regina, "I adore you. It seems as if I'd known you for years. If for no other reason I love you because of your queenly name. By the way, have you seen the queen yet?"

      "Of course! in my dreams last night."

      "True; you only arrived last night. Still, you've had time. Where did you go this morning? To the Colosseum? Ah! I adore the Colosseum! I'd like to live in it! Have you read Quo Vadis? What! you have not?—and it's the finest of all modern books! I'll make you read it. I'll make you read all sorts of books. I'll introduce you to ever so many authors. I'll take you to intellectual circles, artistic gatherings, to lectures, to wherever one may live not by bread alone——"

      "Are we to have bread alone here?" asked Antonio, in feigned alarm; "well, whatever you do, you're not to make Regina write for your paper."

      "Why not?"

      "I'd kill you—have you taken up!"

      Regina laughed, and Arduina disappeared again into the kitchen.

      When they were alone Antonio pulled Regina to the looking-glass. "We mayn't be beautiful," he said, kissing her, "but we make a good group. Look, my queen, and laugh; laugh as you used! You don't know what dumps I fall into when I see you displeased."

      "I'm not displeased," she said, putting her hands on his breast.

      "But neither are you pleased. You aren't my Regina of the river-side. Your face is long, your eyes are far away. You don't seem to care that you're in Rome—Rome of your dreams."

      "It's the weather—the weather," she said in a dull voice.

      "The weather will clear up," said Antonio, taking her to the window. "You'll see how beautiful Rome is in fine weather! It's almost always fine, and never cold. Just see all the gardens! Even here in Via Torino there's so much green. Shall we look out a bit? It's not raining now."

      He opened the French window. Regina stepped out among the flower-pots—filled with consumptive little plants, on whose sparse leaves the melancholy of the grey sky was reflected. She looked down on the wet and deserted street.

      Taking shelter under a doorway was a little old woman, dressed in black, and with a meagre basket of lemons by her side. She was hurriedly wringing out her stockings, and she was pale, huddled up, shaking with cold.

      Regina had noticed her in the morning, and now, instead of admiring the palaces and gardens—squeezing up her eyes to see distinctly from this altitude of fifth storey—she looked again at the little old woman with the withered lemons.

      Antonio pointed out the Costanzi Theatre, and tried to cheer her by saying that Bellincioni was expected at Carnival time.

      "Just think, little one! You shall hear Bellincioni!"

      But Regina was looking at the muddy pavement, presided over by that little black figure, whose whole fortune consisted in those seven miserable lemons. It seemed as if she had no right to rejoice in the pleasures offered by a great city, when in that same city, at a street corner, while it rained, that little old woman was to be seen tired and shaking with cold. Her soul must have turned sour and sad like the lemons which made up her ridiculous fortune, all her subsistence, the total of her long life of labour and sorrow.

      "To be poor and old!" murmured Regina, trying to express her idea to her husband.

      "What is it you've got in your head?" he returned; "do you imagine the old crone is suffering? Not she! She's used to that sort of life. If you altered her habits, even if you offered her a more comfortable existence, she'd be perfectly wretched."

      Regina remembered her own case, and questioned whether Antonio were not right. Her thoughts flew to her old home, where the firelight would be just beginning to gild the semi-obscurity of the great parlour. The recollection was enough to make her feel sadder still, here in this cold and untidy little city drawing-room.

      She was roused from her homesickness by Arduina, who brought tidings.

      "The Princess is coming after all! She had promised, but I feared she'd never turn out a day like this. She is so kind! and so clever. I adore her. I must go and dress. Mario!" she cried, running to her husband, who was entering, "Mario, make haste! Put on at least your——"

      Sor Mario entered, very grave, very fat, much out of breath. He pressed Regina's hand, gasped, and in compliance with his wife's insistence went away to dress. Regina could not make out if he were pleased or not that the Princess was honouring his board. As for herself she was curious, even anxious, to meet a lady of authentic rank, or, at any rate, of wealth, however little flattering her portrait as drawn by Antonio. It did not occur to her that the Princess in question could not be a very exalted personage if she deigned to sup with Arduina!

      "She's old and deaf," Antonio had said; "she sets up to be a critic, and patronises, or at least receives visits from, the worst scribblers in Rome. But oh! these authors! They penetrate everywhere like flies. It's a fine thing, genius!—worth even more than money."

      "Certainly," Regina had answered, "genius can buy even money; or, at any rate, can despise it!"

      "I think we'd better dress, too," said Antonio thoughtfully, and added hastily, "not, of course, for her sake—for our own."

      They descended the stair again, and Regina put on her prettiest silk, her lace scarf, her jewelled brooch, her rings. She powdered herself, and, following Antonio's suggestion, puffed her hair a little at the temples.

      "That's it," he said approvingly, "you look another girl."

      He changed his own attire, and curled his moustache.

      "A perfect fop!" laughed Regina; "you intend to captivate the lady with that moustache!"

      "Surely you don't imagine any one could fall in love with me?—not even that 'vecchia corna' (scarecrow)!"

      "I fell in love with you!"

      He caught her and kissed her.

      "But is it true you were in love? I don't believe it!"

      "It was you who didn't fall in love! A 'signorina fine, fine, fine.' '30,000 lire not to be despised,' 'a muzzle like——'"

      "Yes; a muzzle, a muzzle, a muzzle!" he said, like a child persisting in some innocent insult.

      As they were going forth the second time Signora Anna ran to see Regina's finery. She examined the stuff of her dress, and looked if it were lined with silk, while deep and painful sighs swelled her capacious bosom. In the kitchen Gaspare was heard scolding Marina.

      Regina felt acute pleasure in the thought that Gaspare and the mother-in-law were not coming to Arduina's dinner. However, she was no sooner back in the squeezy drawing-room, where they sat awaiting "Madame," than her low spirits returned.

      Evening fell rapidly; the shadows deepened like black impalpable clouds. Arduina was busy with final preparations. Sor Mario grunted benevolently, sunk in an arm-chair, his trousers drawn very tight over the