"The letter, then, relates to the signorina.

She is well ?" "Yes, she is well now.

She is in our native Italy." Jackeymo raised his eyes involuntarily towards the orange-trees, and the morning breeze swept by and bore to him the odour of their blossoms.
"Those are sweet even here, with care," said he, pointing to the trees.
"I think I have said that before to the padrone." But Riccabocca was now looking again at the letter, and did not notice either the gesture or the remark of his servant.

"My aunt is no more!" said he, after a pause.
"We will pray for her soul!" answered Jackeymo, solemnly.

"But she was very old, and had been a long time ailing.