Her small ears were all attention, and her slender fingers made notes with a common pencil, so that Nino wondered at the contrast between the dazzling white hand and the smooth, black, varnished instrument of writing.

He took no account of time that day, and was startled by the sound of the mid-day gun and the angry clashing of the bells.

The contessina looked up suddenly and met his eyes, but it was the boy that blushed.
"Would you mind finishing the canto ?" she asked.

"There are only ten lines more--" Mind! Nino flushed with pleasure.
"Anzi--by all means," he cried.

"My time is yours, signorina." When they had done he rose, and his face was sad and pale again.