Stenterello, love, give a pretty smile and say
tanti complimenti!" The poodle wagged his white pate--it looked like
one of those little pads in swan's-down, for applying powder to the
face--and repeated the barking process.
"He is a wonderful beast," said Rowland.
"He is not a beast," said the young girl. "A beast is something black
and dirty--something you can't touch."
"He is a very valuable dog," the elder lady explained. "He was presented
to my daughter by a Florentine nobleman."
"It is not for that I care about him. It is for himself. He is better
than the prince."
"My dear, my dear!" repeated the mother in deprecating accents, but with
a significant glance at Rowland which seemed to bespeak his attention to
the glory of possessing a daughter who could deal in that fashion with
the aristocracy.
Rowland remembered that when their unknown visitors had passed before
them, a year previous, in the Villa Ludovisi, Roderick and he had
exchanged conjectures as to their nationality and social quality.
Roderick had declared that they were old-world people; but Rowland
now needed no telling to feel that he might claim the elder lady as a
fellow-countrywoman.
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