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She knew that the mere mention of so mature an age would be flattering to such a boy. "The objections are insurmountable," replied Orsino. "What objections? Remember that I do not know Rome, nor the Romans." "We are petrified in traditions. Spicca said the other day that there was but one hope for us. The Americans may yet discover Italy, as we once discovered America." Madame d'Aragona smiled.
In default of pleasant stories of filthy intrigue or lewd jest, men like Cinthio and Bandello will gabble off occasionally some tragic story, picked out of a history book or recently heard from a gossip: the stories of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, of Disdémona and the Moorish Captain, of Roméo Montecchio and Giulietta Cappelletti, of the Cardinal d'Aragona and the Duchess of Amalfi, of unknown grotesque Persian Sophis and Turkish Bassas stories of murder, massacre, rape, incest, anything and everything, prattled off, with a few words of vapid compassion and stale moralizing, in the serene, cheerful, chatty manner in which they recount their Decameronian escapades or Rabelaisian repartees.
I thought of buying one at the Prati di Castello, but it seemed cheaper to borrow the skin of you. May I take it?" Sant' Ilario laughed. Orsino rolled up the great hide and carried it to the door. "Who is the lady, my boy?" "I never saw her before a certain Donna Maria d'Aranjuez d'Aragona. I fancy she must be a kind of cousin. Do you know anything about her?" "I never heard of such a person.
"He is an enormous giant, and they say that she has tamed him." "Ah no! That would not do. Something else, please." Orsino involuntarily thought of a sphynx as he looked at the massive brow, the yellow, sleepy eyes, and the heavy mouth. He wondered how the late Aranjuez had lived and what death he had died. He offered the suggestion. "It would be appropriate," replied Madame d'Aragona.
He was conscious that the question lacked originality, but no other presented itself to him. "The winter?" repeated Madame d'Aragona dreamily. "Who knows? I am here at present, at the mercy of the great painter. That is all I know. Shall I be here next month, next week? I cannot tell. I know no one. I have never been here before. It is dull. This was my object," she added, after a short pause.
My wife has her cards for both, of course. She will only go once. If you will accept the one for the first day, she will be very happy." "You are angelic, my dear friend! Then I go as your wife?" She laughed. "Precisely. You will be Faustina Gouache instead of Madame d'Aragona." "How delightful! By the bye, do not call me Madame d'Aragona. It is not my name.
Madame d'Aragona went out with Orsino, and they descended the broad staircase together.
One galley, a new vessel, ran into another which was an old one, and sank her on the spot, carrying all her luckless crew to the bottom. The remaining vessels scattered far and wide; Alfonso d'Aragona found refuge in the Bay of Alghieri, two more of his galleys reached an anchorage in the Isle of St.
"I shall be back in a quarter of an hour," he said, as he bowed and went out. Madame d'Aragona watched his tall young figure till he disappeared. "He does not lack spirit, your young friend," she observed. "No member of that family ever did, I think," Gouache answered. "They are a remarkable race." "And he is the only son?" "Oh no! He has three younger brothers." "Poor fellow!
"That is not new," thought she, "but he is charming, all the same. They say," she added aloud, "that genius finds inspiration everywhere." "Alas, I am not a genius. What I ask is an occupation, and permanent interest. The thing is impossible, but I am not resigned." "Before thirty everything is possible," said Madame d'Aragona.
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