Giulia’s attitude, as she stood at the kitchen-door, is chargeable with this little excursus. It was singularly graceful; and her figure as she stood, so that a slanting ray just caught and lent a glory to her head, while the rest of her person was in shadow, if only it could have been transferred to canvas by some artist, who would have been contented to add nothing to what he saw, would have made the painter’s fortune.
She was dressed in that mixture of colours so much affected by the Italian peasantry—red and blue. She had a blue skirt, a scarlet body, and white linen sleeves. The skirt was short enough, and the shoe cut low enough, and the white stocking well drawn enough to show to proper advantage a specially trim ankle and well-formed foot. The scarlet body fitted well enough to set off admirably all the contours of a bust such as is rarely seen in cities—rarely among the over-luxurious rich; more rarely still among the imperfectly nourished poor. A little frilled collar, scrupulously clean, circled the matchless column of a throat, that, sunburnt as it was, carried the head so exquisitely poised upon it, in a manner, and with a proud expression of unconscious dignity, which would have become a maiden queen. The rare abundance of raven hair was neatly and indeed artistically arranged in masses on the sides and at the back of her head. A long silver bodkin, with a large round head of filagree work, was passed through the knot of it at the back. She was standing with her left shoulder slightly leaning against the door-post; the elbow of her right arm was resting on the palm of her left hand; and her chin, somewhat drooping, was supported by her right hand.
If it be asked whether all the girls in the farm-houses of the Romagna have their collars as scrupulously clean, and their whole costume as neat and attractive as that of Giulia Vanni undoubtedly was, I can only say that I have every reason to believe that the Romagna girls have the peculiarity of always appearing so when they live in the same house with such a young man as Beppo, whom they consider it to be their duty to keep at a distance.
The beauty of Giulia’s figure and attitude had not been lost on Beppo, as he approached the house. His eye had eagerly sought the door-way; for it often happened that she stood there a few minutes at that hour to look out on the sunset sea and landscape. But as soon as she saw him—was it quite as soon?—she flashed away like one of those pretty bright lizards of her country, which may be watched basking on a stone as long as they are unconscious of the watcher’s presence, but which flash out of sight with the speed of lightning as soon as they become aware that they are looked at.
Giulia vanished, and did not show herself in the kitchen till the men and the mistress of the family had taken their places at the supper-table. Then she slipped in and quietly took her usual place on the bench next the wall, by the side of the Signora Sunta. The farmer occupied one end of the long narrow table, and the two young men sat on the outer bench, opposite to their mother and cousin.
The meal proceeded in silence till the soup had been eaten, and then the farmer said, “There! a man can talk better when he has got something in the inside of him, especially when he has been in the fields all day; and I have got something to tell you. There is a benedizione del cielo[1] for you, Giulia. What should you say to going to live a spell at Fano, to learn—all manner of things that city-folks know, and that you might live up here everlasting without ever knowing?”
“Me, Signor Paolo!” said Giulia, looking up in amazement.
“Yes, you!—who else? And, to make it short, it don’t much signify what you think of it, for it’s all settled. There’s a place found for you!”
“A place! go away from Bella Luce!” gasped Giulia, while the open scarlet boddice began to rise and fall very perceptibly.
Beppo had remained fixed, as if suddenly turned to stone, with his mouth open, one hand with his fork in it raised in air, and the other grasping his knife, held bolt upright on the table, staring at his father, and making but slow progress as yet towards realising the full import of the announcement.
“Yes, a place, and a very good one too!” resumed the farmer.
“Oh! Si’or Paolo! please don’t send me away! I’ll work harder and spin more! Don’t send me to service! I’d far rather live always at Bella Luce!” said poor Giulia, wholly unconscious of the possible construction that might he put on her last words.
“Always live at Bella Luce! Ah! that I’ll be sworn you would!” sneered the old man, bitterly and grimly; but that is just what I don’t mean you to do, my girl!”
The blood rushed in an impetuous torrent all over Giulia’s brown cheek, and over her forehead and neck. Her ears tingled, her hands burned, and she felt as if she should have choked. It was some relief to her to know that no one of the party save the old man was looking at her. Beppo was still staring in speechless dismay at his father; and Carlo was watching his brother with a malicious smile. The eyes of la sposa were fixed upon her plate. With a mighty effort of will, Giulia prevented herself from sobbing or giving any other outward sign of her distress. Presently all the tingling blood flowed back again, and she sat as pale and motionless as a corpse, with her eyes fixed on the table.
“And what do you mean by talking about service?” continued the farmer, angrily. “Who said anything about service? You are not going to service; and you are never to speak of your position as such. None of the Vannis ever did go to service; and you are a Vanni, worse luck! You are never to speak to any one of going to service, do you hear?”
“But, father, everybody will know it! You can’t think to keep it a secret!” said his son Beppo, at last, flattering himself that he had found an unanswerable argument against the measure.
“You hold your tongue, booby!” said his father, roughly, yet with a very different sort of- ↑ A popular phrase for a great and unexpected benefit.
